


Not in Nottingham

by Newance



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, BRO SO MUCH BAD SHIT HAPPENS TO HAWKE, Blue-Purple Hawke, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, JUST LET HER MOURN...., Sad Hawke, Slow Burn, act 2 onwards, this is a custom hawke but i'm writing her w/o the name so u can PROJECT, this is the fic where hawke runs away from her problems and also drinks a LOT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newance/pseuds/Newance
Summary: In the years after the Deep Roads expedition, Hawke finds herself falling into a funk. Varric is desperate to get Hawke back to her old self, and the two have to face their problems head on. How much is Kirkwall going to take before it starts giving?





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke felt herself growing heavier and heavier with each passing drink. The Hanged Man was abandoned, not even Varric or Isabela occupied the main room, despite the late hour. 

"Another," she said quietly, pulling a sovereign from her bag, "as many as this will get me." 

"H-Hawke," Corff said, "if you can drink this much, and not die, I'm not sure if I'll be able to handle that." 

"Then put whatever I don't drink towards future drinks, or put it on Varric's tab," she said. The warrior was slumped on the bar counter, and Corff slid her another bottle of whiskey. He'd given up on pouring her drinks for her, and watched instead as Hawke uncorked the bottle and put it straight to her lips, half the bottle gone in a few seconds. He would have cut her off, but with the bar empty, and her firm gaze, he didn’t see the harm in letting her drink herself into a stupor.

Corff didn't know exactly what had happened, just that after the expedition Hawke suddenly lived in High Town, and her sister didn't come back. Varric wouldn't let a word slip, at least not yet. It had only been a year since they all ventured deep below the earth in search of treasure. 

Hawke finished the bottle, officially having consumed too much, and her cheek rested on the cool, rough wood of the bar. She heard the door open, and her eyes followed the line of the floorboards to where Varric was coming in. He froze when he saw Hawke, crumpled in a pile surrounded by three empty whiskey bottles. That was more than even he could drink in a night. He sighed, shaking his head, and glanced to Corff. 

"I'll take care of her," he muttered to the bartender as he approached Hawke's less-than-conscious form. He placed a hand on her back, and her glassy eyes shifted to meet his. 

"Andraste's flaming asshole, Hawke," he whispered, "this is the worst I've ever seen you." 

"It's the worst I've ever felt," she replied, accepting his helping hands with a groan. She was much taller than him, a warrior with the height to match her muscles, but Varric didn't care. One of his arms took Hawke's over his shoulder, the other wrapped around her hips. He lifted ever so slightly, supporting her weight, and slowly he helped her up to his rooms. 

He set her on his bed, crouching to pull off her boots. He went and got her a glass of water, but by the time he returned she was slouched on her side, snoring. He set the water on the table next to her, pushing her onto the center of the bed, and tucking her under the blanket. 

He sighed, shaking his head as he pulled off his coat and shoes, brows furrowed as he watched Hawke's chest rise and fall. She'd been getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. She wouldn't talk to anybody about what happened in the deep roads, not even him. She found her peace late at night, drowning her sorrows in the piss-flavored alcohol Corff had. Although, since Hawke had started visiting more, the quality of the alcohol improved. He'd overheard Norah mention Hawke plopping down gold pieces like they were for copper candies, but with the fortune Hawke now had, he couldn't justify bringing it up to her. 

She paid off his tab once, without him knowing. He'd gone down after a particularly successful mission with Hawke, only to have Corff mention his outstanding, very expensive tab had been closed out. He tried to demand answers, but Corff just shrugged, telling him Hawke had stayed late the night before, and decided to pay it for him. 

He had been trying to figure out a way to approach her on what was troubling her ever since then. They'd bought each other drinks before, sure. Sometimes they even funded a night of drinking with each other, but never had they even discussed such a dramatic action. They were best friends, at least he thought they were. Did she not trust him? She was sleeping in his bed right now, but was it what she really wanted? Should he have left her on the bar? No... He could never do that. Varric sat as his kitchen table, eating a thick slice of bread, lost in thought.

He turned into bed on his couch, located in the study off his bedroom, which he kept locked most of the time. It was too small for Hawke to sleep on, and he didn't mind the occasional night on a firmer surface. It was good for his back, or that's what he told himself. Hawke's snoring was faint, and rhythmic. You could tell time by Hawke's breathing, and it was one of the only ways Varric could tell if she was seriously injured on missions. She was too proud to admit needing an injury kit, so listening to the rattle of her armor was the sneakier way to catch her injuries before they got severe. He let the rumble from the next room lull him to sleep. 

In the morning, Hawke found herself comfortable, and not at the bar anymore. When she cracked open an eye, she saw the glass of water and a plate of bread with jam waiting for her. Pushing herself up ever so slightly, she realized she was, once again, in Varric's bed. She could hear him humming from the kitchen, and she sank back onto the pillowy bed. Her body hurt, her brain felt like it was leaking out of her ears, her eyes were on fire. 

Varric heard the thump, unmistakable as he'd heard it a dozen times before. He set down the dish he'd been washing, and decided to peek into the bedroom. 

"Are you awake?" He called softly. 

" _Mmmmm_ ," came the muffled groan, watching her hair shift as she nodded her head, face down on the bed. It was still early, and he told her she could go back to sleep, but she shook her head no. She pushed herself up, twisting her body so loud pops could be heard, and she cracked her neck once she was sitting up. 

"Thank you," she said voice hoarse. She frowned, clearing her throat and reaching for the glass of water. 

"I'm not going to let you get splinters and contract maker _knows_ what by sleeping on the bar," he said, "you're always welcome to stay with me." 

"Thank you, again, Varric," Hawke nodded, "I appreciate the bed." 

"You humans are too tall to sleep anywhere else in my room," he joked, "I'd sleep next to you but I'm too afraid you'll roll over and crush me in the middle of the night." 

Hawke laughed, but it was cut short when she gripped her head. She had a splitting headache, and she grunted as she rubbed her eyebrows. 

"I'll bring you some elfroot balm if you want," Varric soothed, approaching the bed. She nodded, and he dug in one of his drawers, pulling out the tiny tin of pain relieving salve. He handed it to her, and she smelled it first, before dabbing some between her eyebrows, and on the space on her tunic between her neck and breasts. He took the balm back, and put it away.

"Make sure you eat," Varric said, taking the plate of bread and putting ut in her lap, "you'll feel worse if you don't. I’m going to go do some work, you know where to find me if you need anything." Hawke nodded, picking up one of the slices, and taking a deep bite. Satisfied she was sinking her teeth into something besides Hightown thugs, Varric left to go sit at his desk and finish the latest chapter of his current work. 

Hawke are the food in silence, eyes half closed and unblinking. Varric was right, as usual, she was feeling much better after her meal. She finished the water, and reclined back down onto the soft bed. She didn't want to go home that day. She couldn't look her mother in the eyes again, coming home alone. Leandra always had such hopeful eyes. A hope that faded when she saw Hawke instead of Bethany. Hawke knew that, despite the protests, her mother blamed her for the loss of her perfect twins. 

Curling her knees up to her chest, Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the sweet kiss of sleep would grace her once more. She got her wish, the food having settled the roiling acid in her belly. Hawke napped, and Varric wrote his books.

When the faint ringing of the Chantry Bell signaled lunchtimes Varric gently shook Hawke awake. She groaned, rolling over to crack an eye at him. 

"Come on, Hawke," he said quietly, "you can't sleep all day. I'll take you out to lunch." 

She only protested a _little bit_ as Varric quite literally scooped her out of bed. He set her on her feet, and she took a moment to stretch before she smiled at Varric. 

"I won't turn down a free meal, you know that much," Hawke said, and Varric laughed. 

"Oh, I know, Hawke. Every time I mentioned food you turned into some kind of starving beast!" Varric said, and she shrugged. 

"I'm a growing boy!" She joked, "if I don't get my vegetables I'll never be able to be a warrior!" 

"Please, Hawke, you could bench press he Arishok If you wanted to." Varric said, rolling his eyes. 

"Can you get me my boots?" She asked, looking around for the shoes that she was no longer wearing. 

"Oh, right" Varric muttered, retrieving the boots and bringing them back to Hawke. She pulled them on, and the two of them headed out of the dimly lit tavern. The day was overcast, much to Hawke's hungover delight. 

"What do you want to eat?" Varric asked, and Hawke shrugged. 

"Something... Salty, or greasy, or cheesy," she said, squinting in the obscured daylight. Varric smirked, knowing the Fereldan always wanted something cheesy. 

"It's a shame Fereldan cheese is so hard to find here in Kirkwall... It's hard to import with the sea travel and what not," Hawke sighed. 

"There is that one cheese you like isn't there? Didn't I get it for you one of the first times we had dinner together?" Varric asked, and Hawke looked off in the distance, wistful. 

"Yes, you did," she said, "I haven't had it since. Such a shame too, it's my favorite food."

"Well, maybe we can find it?" Varric suggested, "we can check Hightown first." 

Hawke was grateful Varric wasn't pressuring her into being more open. She'd gotten used to the supportive hip-grab leading her up the stairs to her estate, or up to his rooms. He never asked, only suggested, and let her decide what they did with their time off. He suggested the restaurants; she chose what order they checked. 

The few minutes they waiting for their tables were spent glancing at the menus. One by one they looked at the lists, Hawke's eyes scrunching as she didn't see the items she wanted. She'd shake her head ever so subtly, and they'd slip out before anyone even noticed. 

After a handful of different eateries, Varric watched as Hawke's neutral expression lit up, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open just a bit. 

"Do they have it?" He asked, and she nodded, wordless but enthusiastic. 

"Yes!" She said after a few seconds, a big smile going across her face. She turned the menu, pointing to the dish, and Varric found it on his own menu. He scrunched his nose at the description. 

"Cheese baked in pastry, served with jam and fruit," he mumbled, "are you sure this is good? It sounds like a nightmare to me." 

"You've never had it!" Hawke said, mock offended, and Varric chuckled. 

"If it'll make you happy, I'll try it, but no promises, okay?" Hawke was practically glowing due to his willingness to try the dish from her homeland. She thanked him again, and when the server came by, he ordered their food and a bottle of light white wine. 

"Hair of the dog?" Hawke asked, and Varric shrugged. 

"Wine goes well with cheese, at least from my experience." He hummed, and they made idle chatter until their food came. Varric was trying his hardest to pull Hawke out of her own head. She was choosing solo jobs more and more, and he was noticing the increase of bruises and scrapes on her limbs. 

"You really should be taking someone with you on those jobs, Hawke," Varric said, brows furrowing, "it's dangerous." 

"I know," Hawke sighed, "I just want to be alone I think. It feels... Better."

"Better, or more risky?" Varric asked, thanking the server as he poured them their wine. 

"I... Don't know," she said, "I never thought of it." 

"Hawke, I know you don't want to talk about Bethany, but I want you to know you can trust me. With anything! I'm not going to push you, but my door is always open for you," Varric said, "you can talk to me." 

"Thank you, Varric," she replied. It was curt, but not rude. She sipped her wine, eyes cast to the side, avoiding the confrontation across the table. She didn't like to argue with her friends, but Varric had been there. He'd seen it with his own eyes. He wouldn't push, but his eyes would pressure. 

As soon as the two plates were placed in front of Hawke and Varric, she seemed to completely forget the conversation they were just having. The transformation was almost palpable as she used her utensils to carve into the golden pastry. Varric watched her as she pulled a thick, gooey bite of the dish up to her mouth, eating it steaming hot. 

Despite his initial hesitation, Varric was surprised at how much he liked the combination of food in front of him. About halfway through her food, Hawke groaned a little bit and sat back. She'd eaten much too quickly, and her stomach was protesting. 

"You okay, Hawke?" Varric asked, watching as she took a few sips of water. 

"Yeah," she smiled, "just got a little too excited." 

"I can see that," he said. 

They finished their meal, Hawke's expression dreamy and happier than Varric had seen in nearly six months. They walked around in the late afternoon daylight, passing by Hawke's estate, which she eyed sadly. 

Varric steered them toward the docks, and they tossed pebbles into the water side by side. Hawke sat on a damp crate, skipping the flat stones across the grey water. Varric knew this would be the only good opportunity to bring up the tab. 

"You paid my tab, Hawke," Varric said, launching a stone into the water, "mind telling me why?" 

"I was drunk," she said evasively, "and we'd just gotten paid. What? I can't do something nice for my best friend?" 

"Thirty sovereigns isn't just _something nice_ ," Varric retorted. 

"I... Look. I wanted to say thank you. Indirectly. You're always there, you're always letting me stay with you, shit, you take me out for dinners I'd never think about. Closing your tab was just me trying to pay you back," Hawke said, nearly glaring at Varric as she skewered the water with a rock. 

"You don't need to thank me, Hawke. You don’t need to pay me back." He was saying her name a lot, knowing she'd tune him out if he didn't. She wasn't her usual self in this funk. A throaty grunt and an overly aggressive rock throw was the only thing to warn Varric of the outburst that was about to happen.

"Can you let me grieve in peace?" Hawke roared, turning with her face twisted in anger. 

"What-" 

"Can you let me deal with this? Can you just let me drink, and try to cope with losing my siblings? By the Maker I don't get it! My mother hates me, you won't stop bugging me, everyone's expecting so much now, I just want to go kill spiders in the mines and try to sort this out!" Hawke's face was bright red, her eyes squinting and wet with tears. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want her friends knowing anything was wrong. She sniffed hard, wiping her whole sleeve across her face. 

"Forget it," she snapped, turning around and storming off the pier. Varric stood there, clueless on how to go about the situation. It was his job to understand situations, why was this one so jarring? 

Hawke had never gotten so upset with him before, and that thought weighed heavy on his mind as he sat at the hanged man, drinking the beer Hawke had paid for in advance. Isabela approached him, taking the seat next to him and kicking her feet onto the table top. She held up two fingers to Norah, winking as the server rolled her eyes at the pirate. 

"You okay, Varric?" Isabela asked, "you look uncharacteristically troubled." 

"Ha-ha, Rivaini," he said, rolling his eyes, "Hawke and I got into a fight." 

"Oh no!" Isabela said, her tone betrayed by the sleazy smile that replaced it, "you and your wife aren't getting along? More for me then."

Varric's nose flushed, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Don't talk about Hawke like that, she's not my wife, and she's not some piece of meat either," he said firmly. He didn't normally get aggressive with Isabela, he enjoyed her company a lot. He was always uncomfortable when people ogled Hawke from afar. 

"You're a compulsive liar, Varric," she hummed, "I've seen Hawke coming out of your rooms more and more these days." 

"It's not like that. Humans aren't my type, plus, have you seen how tall she is? No, never," Varric said, "she's been drinking too much and passing out on the bar. I'm just giving her a room to stay in." 

"You're so courteous! I'm a little insulted you've never offered me the same deal," Isabela play flirted, Varric only sighed, and Isabela leaned off the joking approach. Varric was obviously feeling down, and she didn't want to purposefully make him feel worse. He wasn't reciprocating with the playful teasing, and he retired to his room early that night. 

Hawke hadn't gone back to her estate. She'd gone to Aveline, asking if there was any work. When there wasn't, she was turned out of the keep. Faced with nothing to do, she wandered the alleys of Kirkwall, looking for some thug who wanted a chance at her jingling coin purse. 

As if detecting her aggression, no thugs were to be found, and Hawke was stuck in the position of going home, or to the hanged man. Everyone else was busy, but she also wanted to be alone. She passed through the chantry courtyard, and a lone figure caught her attention. Knight-Commander Cullen, dutifully at his post as always. 

Over the past few years, Hawke had managed to wear down the serious edge of Cullen in hopes of greasing his palms if Bethany was ever discovered. After all that Templar Rust was worn away, Cullen was actually pretty nice company. He didn't hate mages nearly as much as most people, but he was still a bit rough around the edges. 

Cullen simply raised a gauntlet to Hawke in a halfhearted wave. She returned the sentiment, looking around before walking over. 

"It's getting late, Hawke. Shouldn't you be home, or... _With_ somebody?" He glanced around, and over Hawke's shoulders, looking for any of her companions. 

"I can't enjoy a walk by myself for a change?" She asked with a small, closed mouth grin. 

"We both know how dangerous it is for you out here. Do you know how many Carta corpses we've had to deal with since you came here?" 

"Better dead, right? I'm doing you a favor." 

"I guess... You should head home, I'll send a patrol after you if you don't," Cullen warned. Hawke nodded, setting her jaw. She looked up at the chantry clock, noting the time. Her mother would already be in her room for the evening. She took early hours now. 

Bodahn and Hawke's Mabari greeted her. The merchant pointed out the stack of letters, and Hawke crouched, rubbing her giant dog's ears. She thanked Bodahn for the information, and the man looked at Hawke sympathetically, eyeing her back as she collected the letters and retired to her bedroom. Bodhan had little opportunity to get to know Bethany, but he had seen how happy she’d made Hawke. The sisters were closer than any siblings he’d ever encountered, and the loss was heavy on Hawke’s shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric confronts Hawke about her behavior, Hawke doesn't seem to know how to handle it.

Two weeks slipped by without word from Hawke. Varric hadn't seen her at all, not even a mention of her name. He was worried. Sometimes she went quiet, holed up in her house for days on end, but she'd never been gone this long before. She sent notes, or messages with her other companions; even Bodahn had brought a hastily scribbled note to Varric once. 

Varric smoothed his duster before he knocked on the Hawke estate's door. Loud barking, followed by some rushed footsteps had Leandra opening the door frantically. 

"Varric," she said, confusion and relief washing over her face, "where is she?" 

"She?" 

"My daughter," Leandra said firmly, and Varric stood there dumbfounded. 

"I was hoping you could tell me," He said, "How long has she been gone?" 

"Come in, we can talk inside." 

Leandra wasn't normally the warmest toward Varric. She respected him, but disliked him prying into Hawke's life as he had. He being her friend wasn't all that welcome, but he liked to think he was growing on her. Still, she poured them both tea, and he could see now her eyes were puffy from crying. 

"I never think too much about her being gone for a few days. I know you two go scrounging around in those mine shafts for up to a week, but she always tells me," Leandra said, snuffing. 

"How long has Hawke been gone?" 

"Two weeks? Maybe longer. Bodahn said she came in late, got her mail, and was gone before any of us woke up," Leandra said. 

"Maker's Breath... That really was two weeks, then?" Varric was talking to himself more that Hawke's mother. Leandra watched as Varric rubbed his chin, thinking hard about where Hawke might be. There was the mine, but they'd just cleared it out, Sundermount, the Wounded Coast... He knew every nook and cranny of Kirkwall, she wasn't still in the city. 

"I'm going to look for her," Varric said, and Leandra nodded, teary eyed. 

"Please," she begged, "I can't lose her too." 

The weight of those words was enough to set Varric out the door in a hurry. Hawke was convinced Leandra hated her, but she didn't. 

Leandra had a difficult time conveying her grief, she wanted to express how things could have been done differently, but that only made Hawke feel guilty. Hawke preferred to mull things over in peace, trying to find answers in books or at the chantry. She wasn't the most religious, but anything assuring her that her siblings were okay was enough. 

Varric stopped into a few houses before he left, asking Fenris, Anders, and Aveline if they'd seen Hawke anywhere. All of them, just as worried, said no. Fenris offered to accompany Varric out to the Wounded Coast, but the dwarf shook his head. He didn't know what exactly was happening between Hawke and Fenris, but he did know he would only get in the way. 

Hawke wasn't hiding, at least that's what she tried to tell herself. Too embarrassed by her fight with Varric to stay in town, and with a pile of letters asking her to collect resources outside of Kirkwall, she'd made a comfortable camp in a low overhang. Closer to the mine than the Dalish camp, Hawke had spent the last two weeks pulling up elfroot, ripping poison sacs from giant spiders, and thinking about Bethany's death. The miners got a morale boost from all the spiders being swatted, but their praise fell on absent ears as Hawke was absorbed by her own brain.

Anders had told her he could have made her a grey warden if he'd gone along, but Cullen had let it slip that if she'd stayed, the Templars were going to take her to the circle. In all outcomes, Bethany would have been torn from her family. Some of the endings more miserable than others. Hawke didn't know if it was the best or worst scenario, only that it was the scenario that had happened. Bethany wouldn't be forgotten, and such a careless mistake wouldn't be repeated. 

Varric stamped through the underbrush, he was making mental note of the crushed plants, and large boot prints that littered the area. Hawke was smart, he'd even call her sneaky on some occasions, but she was never one to think about covering her tracks. She was too heavy on her feet, but her brute strength was something to fear. If she was followed, she could deal with the problem. Varric didn't like having to resort to violence, but neither did Hawke. He'd seen her silver tongue more than she'd admit to using it. 

His tracking led him up and down nearly the entire mountain, grumbling as he found long-rotting spiders, dried elfroot stalks, and those unmistakable boot prints. There was no rhyme or reason to her movements, but he tried to put it into perspective of a two week camping trip. In fact, it was probably an accident he found her at all. 

He found Hawke asleep, in the middle of the afternoon, on a rock. It was that simple. He stared at her, not even looking around the camp. She had dirt on her face, and was surrounded by bags of maker-knows-what, but he assumed it had something to do with the letters she'd gotten. They'd run errands for herbalists in the past, these seemed to line up with that. 

Varric sat down on the ground, putting his face in his hands, trying to process just exactly the situation he'd found. He didn't want to startle Hawke, but he also wanted to grab her by the ankles and throw her off the docks he was so mad. How could she scare everyone like this? Varric heard Hawke shift, and he pulled his head up just in time to see her staring at him, wide eyed and anxious. 

"Oh maker," he heard her hiss, and she pushed herself up on the rock slab, "what are you doing here?" 

"I should be asking you that," Varric huffed, getting to his feet, "you had us scared shitless, Hawke!" 

"I just wanted to get some work done in peace," she said, "can't I go camping without being trailed?" 

Varric felt the shift, something was different from the last time they'd spoken. There was a glint in her eye that he thought had been extinguished, and the tilt in her voice sent goosebumps up his arms. He didn't know if it was just an act, or if she was actually feeling better, but he didn't want to risk another shouting match. 

"Your mother's worried sick about you," Varric scolded, "I told her I'd come find you. I'm assuming your 'work' is finished if you have time for an afternoon nap." 

Hawke's laugh was like music. It was real, and tangible as it bounced off the overhang and echoed around them. This was confirmation enough that _something_ had changed in the fourteen days Hawke had been out here. She was... Almost normal? She picked up the bags and slung them over her shoulder, falling into step with him as they started their descent. She wore a Placid, absent smile as they headed back to town. Her attitude was totally different from Varric, who walked with a ball of hurt in his chest.

"Hawke, once you take a bath and change your clothes, talk to your mother," Varric said, "and once you're done with that, I'm taking you to dinner. You look like you've lost half your body weight." 

"I haven't," Hawke chuckled, "but I'll agree to your difficult demands." Varric stopped at this, eyes cast down and he sighed. Hawke also stopped, and turned to her friend. 

"We need to talk. I'm serious." Hawke scrunched her eyebrows, And Varric sent a look that was full of betrayal toward her. Hawke was shocked, but she didn't let him see it. 

"Okay," Hawke said, understanding the connotations. 

"Tell Leandra you'll be with me at the hanged man, I'll come get you at eight," Varric said as they continued their walk. Hawke could feel the rigid, cold tension between them. She understood why, the last conversation they'd had was her screaming at him. Varric was upset, this was like the first night after Bartrand had trapped them in the Thaig. His emotions were physical, you could feel them in the air around him. 

It's part of what made him such an excellent storyteller. It's part of what made Hawke respect him so much. He claimed he was a compulsive liar, but Hawke didn't think that was the truth. He trusted her, and she trusted him. Maybe her little disappearing stunt had changed that. 

Varric dropped Hawke off at her estate. Leandra threw herself into her daughter's arms, weeping her name and thanking Varric for bringing her back. Hawke hugged her mom back, apologizing and saying she was only doing some collection work for one of the herbalists. 

"Leandra," Varric said, "I hope you don't mind if I take Hawke for a drink tonight, do you?" She looked pensive, setting her jaw as she glanced at her daughter. 

"I promise I won't leave his sight," Hawke cooed, "we need to talk about the Bone Pit." 

"Okay," Leandra sighed. "Please try to have her home tonight, Varric." 

"I'll carry her back if I have to," Varric promised. 

Hawke was ushered inside, the door closed, and Varric went back to the hanged man. He ordered a stiff drink, and offered Corff no explanation as to why he needed it so early. He went to his rooms, fixing himself a lukewarm bath and changing into a new set of clothes. He folded up the muddy ones, and listened for the chantry bell to strike 7. He hadn't known Hawke the longest, but he was still surprised at her actions. 

Hawke had set her dirty armor aside to clean, and changed into the finery she liked to wear around her home or while out shopping. Her favorite boots were dirty from the excursion, so she pulled on a pair of low leather ones instead. They were well worn, and comfortable, which is what she wanted now. Her hair was still damp as she rubbed rouge on her eyes and mouth as she always did. She liked to keep her appearance up, especially if she was going somewhere that wasn't going to be a bloodbath. 

Varric was waiting for her in the main hall, rubbing her Mabari behind the ears. 

"Why didn't I think to bring you, you big beast?" He muttered to the dog, who only barked and licked his cheek. He laughed and scratched the dog before turning to Hawke. Her mother stood by, worry in her eyes. Varric told her which restaurant they were going to, and when he expected to get her home. Leandra thanked him for the detailed itinerary, and Hawke kissed her cheeks before they left. 

Hawke ate her dinner like she'd never eaten before. A full five courses slipped past them before they ended up in Varric's rooms with a bottle of whiskey between them. Varric poured them both a full glass, and they touched them together before drinking them down. 

"Alright, time for you to talk," Varric said, refilling their cups, "what's going on in that thick skull of yours." 

"Okay," Hawke sighed, "I've never handled grief well." 

"Yeah? No shit," Varric said. There was a bite on his words that he didn't mean to have. 

"I'm sorry," Hawke said softly, and Varric shut his mouth, "my father was an apostate Mage. He died before we came to Kirkwall, a few years before. My dad always loved me, maybe it was because I was the first, maybe it's because I wasn't a Mage, but he was always there for me. When I told him I wanted to be a warrior, he was so happy... My mom hated the idea, and when Carver and Bethany came, all her time was spent with them. Bethany and my dad had a great relationship, but Carver never got as much attention... When my dad died, we were all heartbroken, and I didn't know how to cope with it. Nobody did. My sister had lost her mentor, my mom lost her husband, everyone was so sad and we didn't talk... My father always told me I had to be strong in times of weakness, for my family, for myself. I threw myself into my training, and Carver joined me. Then the blight happened, and then we lost Carver. My mother never blamed me outright, but she knew I would have survived that ogre's ambush. He always wanted to prove himself." 

Hawke's voice cracked, but before Varric could ask if she wanted to stop, she threw back the whiskey and cleared her throat. 

"He was brash, I replay it constantly in my mind. If I'd told him to stay back, if I'd charged instead," Hawke said, "but I couldn't find an outcome that meant all of us surviving the fight. If I'd been knocked out, or killed, Carver still would have had to fight it. If he'd survived the rush only to die in the fight, Bethany and my mom would have died too. My mom doesn't see it that way, she just knows she lost a baby. Her baby. Bethany dying wasn't my fault, Cullen told me they were going to come for her when we were on the expedition if we hadn't taken her with us. Anders told me he could have performed the joining, but she had such a small chance of surviving, and couldn't stay if she did. It's a selfish choice to say this, Varric, but I'd rather Bethany be dead than her suffer away from her family." 

"Hawke..." Varric trailed off and she moved her glass for him to refill. 

"I know, I know. It's terrible," her eyes were getting watery, "I took out all my anger on you and my friends, and my mother. She's already lost so much." 

"Hawke," Varric said, stronger this time, "you've lost just as much. It's not a selfish choice, if she was going to die or be taken to the circle, we knew Bethany would have made the choice she did regardless." 

"I'm sorry we fought," she sniffed. 

"It wasn't so much a fight as you verbally kicking me in the teeth," Varric comforted. He wanted her to smile, to laugh the laugh he’d heard on the mountain. He really didn't want to see Hawke cry again. He hated seeing Hawke cry. She'd cried so much in the deep roads.

"I'm sorry," she said again, wiping her nose, "I just couldn't deal with it all. My dad, carver, Bethany. It all came crashing down. We were trying to ignore it. My mom is so sad all the time, she always looks so upset when I come in without her. She trusted me to take care of her. I'm afraid of losing the rest of my family."

Varric stood up, rounding the table and wrapping his arms around her hunched shoulders. 

"Shit," he whispered, "I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault. I didn't handle it well, and I had to run away from my problems." Her hands went to his back lightly, and she pressed her cheek to his chest, not really a hug, but enough of a reciprocation. 

"Maker's ass, Hawke, we care about you," he said, squeezing her tighter, "at least leave a note with Fenris or Merrill next time. Tie it to that big dog's collar, or glue it to Curly's back in the chantry courtyard for all I care." 

"I could stick it up Anders ass," Hawke sniffed with a wet giggle. She loved the Mage but he had an attitude with her sometimes. 

"Blondie's head is so far up there it would be easier to stick it in his mouth," Varric said, and the both of them fell into a buzzed chuckle. Varric poured two more drinks before cutting Hawke off. He made it clear that He would walk her home, but she would be walking. 

They talked a little bit more after that. The things Hawke needed to discuss about her feelings. Bethany, Kirkwall, her new life in high town. Things were changing so quickly, Hawke felt overwhelmed. Varric offered his time and advice, and Hawke thanked him. 

"Varric," she said as they walked back in the cool night air, "you know you're my best friend, right?" 

"We only say it every time we see each other," Varric snorted, "but yes, I know I'm your best friend." 

"Am I your best friend?" 

"The one and only," he promised. 

"Pinky swear?" She asked, holding out her finger. He linked his finger with hers, and smiled. 

"Pinky swear. Now, you know you can come and talk to me about anything, right?" 

"Yes I do," she said. 

"I think you should spend the week home, with your mom. Give me your leaflets and I'll do the work for you. You _did_ * tell her we were talking about the bone pit, it's the perfect cover." Varric put his hands back in his coat pockets. They were approaching the rise outside Hawke's estate. Hawke felt her chest swelling with relief and happiness. 

"I owe you a night in Hightown, Varric," she said, darting into the estate and grabbing all her papers. 

"I'll see you soon, okay?" She said, handing off the leather folios, "thank you so much for helping clear my head." 

"Can't have a muddy brain when we're cleaning up Kirkwall for Aveline. That's how the Carta kidnaps you," Varric winked before leaving Hawke to go inside and to bed. 

Before Varric returned to the hanged man, he visited each one of Hawke's companions and told them she was home safe, and was open for a week of pestering. Fenris had thanked Varric, a warm rumble and one of his slender hands gripping the dwarf's shoulder. Merrill and Aveline both nearly suffocated him with surprise hugs. 

By the time he landed face down on his bed, Hawke had been asleep for two hours. Her bed really was better than that rock in the dirt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I MISSED UPLOADING LAST WEEK I WAS MOVING INTO MY NEW APARTMENT AND DIDN'T HAVE WIFI SO DOUBLE WEEKEND UPLOAD lmao anyway............ no beta reader we die like men @ me on tumblr 2srooky if ya wanna beta read this nonsense


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric's height fluctuates with his mood.

The days that crept by in Hawke's estate were filled with genuinely warm conversations. She spent time with her mother, her friends came and went, she got to write responses to letters she'd let go dusty. Her mother calmed the longer she stayed in the house, and she grew accustomed to the new guests. 

Fenris was practically her neighbor, and he visited her often. They'd talk for hours while Hawke tried to find a reason to ask him to leave. She could never find one. She liked listening to Fenris talk, even if he needed a few drinks to loosen up. He'd been with them when Bethany died, he'd consoled her nervously and watched as she threw away her sword before leaving the deep roads. She knew he had taken it back to his mansion, stored it in some back room in case she ever asked for it. She appreciated the little things he did. 

Varric didn't come by, he was too busy with work, doing hers on top of his own. He did send a few letters, and got quick replies. She had chewed him out for telling everyone to come bother her, but in the same line she thanked him for keeping her entertained. Isabela and Merrill had plenty of stories to tell in his absence. He did find himself missing the big figure at the bar each night. Metal armor clanking, or laughing ringing across the wooden tables. Hawke brought a magic to the bar that was evidently missing. 

Norah asked him where she was one night, sliding a mug of ale to him. 

"Hawke busy? Haven't seen her in what feels like months," the waitress sighed, "she really kept the patrons from getting too rowdy, just by sitting there." 

"You know that's not true," Varric laughed, handing her a few silvers as a nightly tip, "we cause most of the fights we finish." 

"Well, even then, you and Hawke always pay for the damage," Norah grinned. Varric promised she’d be back soon.

The night Hawke burst through the doors of the hanged man, a strange, unanimous cheer went through the crowd. Corff caught her up on the gossip she'd missed, handing her a drink before she swerved to Varric's table. 

"Good to see you looking so bright!" Varric said, toasting their glasses. 

"That week off was really what I needed," Hawke said. 

"How's your mother?" 

"Good! We got to talk a lot. I think it helped us come to terms with things. I think we're ready to start fresh, again, after only two years," Hawke hummed, taking a drink. 

Two drinks in, suddenly their table was full. Merrill, Isabella, Fenris, even Aveline showed up. Anders eventually crawled his way in, joining the drinking that Hawke paid for with her two weeks of gathering. The other patrons left long before Corff and Norah had to shove Hawke's friends out the door. Hawke was swaying on her feet, hardly able to stand after such a night of heavy drinking. 

Varric put his arm around her hip, taking her hand over his shoulder. He helped her up to his bedroom, and sat her on his bed. He knelt to take off her shoes, but was surprised to find her also reaching down to help. 

"Sober enough?" Varric softly chortled, "You should be back at your estate." 

"Noooooo," Hawke whined, "I'm too sleepy." 

"You drank Fenris dry! Of course you're drunk," Varric said, recalling the two chugging full bottles of alcohol just an hour prior. Hawke only giggled, and Varric went to go get her some water. 

He was fully expecting her to be asleep when he came back, but she still sat up, head perky despite the late hour. He handed her the glass and asked if she needed something. 

"Are you going to sleep on the couch?" Hawke asked, "You don't have to. I won't crush you, I promise." 

"I don't want to get in your way," Varric said, and Hawke shrugged. 

"We're friends, Varric, I feel bad taking your bed all the time." 

Varric felt himself shrugging. His bed was more comfortable. 

"I won't protest," Varric said, pulling off his tunic as Hawke snuggled under the blankets on his bed. He walked around the side, climbing into bed next to her. It was unusual, but his bed was oversized, so it didn't matter much. 

"Goodnight, Varric," Hawke yawned, back to his, and almost instantly she was asleep. She didn't snore this night, her breathing was just that rhythmic, precise breathing that he knew so well. It lulled him to sleep, surprisingly soothing to his foggy mind. 

In the morning, he woke up warmer than usual. He cracked an eye open, and glanced over his shoulder, remembering then he was sharing his bed with Hawke. She hadn't moved at all, and, just like she promised, she hadn't crushed him either. He was content with this new arrangement. The couch was getting old, but he didn't mind this. 

He stayed in bed, half dozing, until he felt Hawke stir. He rolled over, and she groaned, also rolling over to see Varric. She smiled brightly at him, rubbing her eyes clear of grit. 

"Good morning," she said. 

"Good morning to you," Varric nodded. They got up slowly, grunting and yawning the whole way. Varric changed his clothes and offered a tunic to Hawke. He had no idea if it would fit her, but he was being polite. 

Hawke changed into the tunic, surprised on how well it fit her shoulders. She couldn't share clothes with anybody, she was much too built. Varric snickered as she tugged and adjusted the fabric to lie correctly. 

"I'm surprised it could even get over your head," Varric said. 

"Maybe your big boobs stretched it out enough for my big head," she said back, thumping the back of her hand on his thick chest gently. He laughed loudly, happy to have his normal Hawke back. 

"Did you sleep okay?" Hawke asked, and Varric stretched his arms over his head. 

"Good. Better than the couch," he jerked his thumb in its direction.

"That great news! Now we have a better sleeping arrangement," Hawke grinned, "shall we get breakfast? I do owe you a day in Hightown." 

Varric agreed to the day in town, and slowly those days turned into weeks, into months, into years. 

Their friendship only deepened in the Three years after the expedition. They found themselves sitting late each night at the hanged man, pouring over new requests as Hawke climbed even higher on the attention scale of Kirkwall. He was the one with all the experience, not Hawke, so any help he offered her was welcome and appreciated. 

"You got a letter from the elf you helped a few years ago," Varric said, both of them sitting in Hawke's estate, "her son is having nightmares." 

Hawke took the letter from Varric, squinting at the page. She read the letter a few times over before humming and nodding. 

"I want to help again. We sent her son to the Dalish, but if he's back in Kirkwall I want to make sure he's safe." 

There it was, as always, Hawke's unending kindness. Varric was always blown away by how selfless Hawke was. He had begun thinking about her biography, and one of the things he wanted to highlight most was how much she gave. She was soft at heart, as tough as she was, she wanted to do her best to help people. She picked flowers on the mountainside for Merrill, he’d seen her put baby birds back in nests when she thought nobody was looking. 

The gold she'd poured into Anders' clinic when they'd first met, helping mages and werewolves in the wild, even taking in Bodahn and Sandal after the expedition. Not everything she did was calculated, but she always tried to do the right thing. Hawke had a strange compassion that he found hard to replicate, but respected dearly. 

"Have we seen the Arishok lately?" Varric asked, and Hawke put on a bewildered smile. 

"It's not like we have afternoon tea," she scoffed, "we just happen to know someone who can speak their language. Literally. I rather like Quinari, I think they're nice."

"It's true," Varric said, resting his chin in his hand, "I still think he likes us more than most people." 

"I think he knows we could hold our own against him," Hawke muttered, turning back to her letters, "I wouldn't want to fight him by myself, though." 

"I wouldn't want to meet him for lunch alone, but fight him? Shit, Hawke, that's death on a stick," Varric said. The two of them started laughing, and Hawke wiped a tear from her eye. 

Outside, it was raining hard, and a crackle of thunder shook the sky overhead. It was getting late, and Hawke frowned at the ceiling as the thunderclaps only increased. 

"You should stay here tonight," Hawke said, "it's too far for you to walk in weather like this."

"I don't mind, Hawke. A little water won't melt me." 

"Varric! I'm not going to let you go out there! It's a thunderstorm! You didn't even bring your coat," Hawke had her eyebrows knitted together. 

' _Kindness_ ' Varric thought, ' _don't squander it_.'

"All right, I'll stay. If it makes you happy," Varric said, nodding at Hawke, whose face lit up at his approval. Varric had promised to read her the newest chapters of his next novel, and she knew the files were here with him.

Leandra was fine with Varric staying over, especially since he’d brought her home safe those years ago. She was still a little off put by the crowd her daughter had decided to take up, but he was Hawke’s best friend. Leandra did have to admit, the stories he told were fantastic, and his jokes were funny. Hawke had asked her multiple times why she was so hesitant to accept him. 

_'Is it because he's a dwarf?'_ Hawke had asked her after a particularly bad spat between the two of them. She'd been forced to reassess her views then, and while she wasn't entirely sold on Varric yet, she was warming up to him fast. He procured a particularly rare bottle of Fereldan wine that evening, handing it to Leandra as his form of thanks. 

"I was planning on leaving it with you before I left, but I figured I should give it to you now to have with dinner," Varric said to Leandra. She accepted the bottle, thanking Varric for the surprising gift. 

Leandra had noticed more Fereldan imports coming to her home. Cheeses, wines, sweets and things Hawke often lamented to her about missing in their earlier years. Gifts from Varric, as always. Hawke was much happier now. So was Leandra. They'd had time to grow closer, and she loved her daughter more and more every day. 

Dinner was quiet. Hawke would describe it as Polite. It was the opposite of the usual night at the hanged man, but it was nice. The rumble of thunder outside, Hawke's Mabari close to her side, Varric and her mother at the table. Hawke could get used to that. She ate the soft steak and potatoes quietly, observing the table. Varric charmed her mom, who giggled endlessly at the compliments after two glasses of wine. Leandra rarely drank.

Hawke hissed and wheezed with laughter in her room late that night, a roaring fire going as Varric read allowed the newest chapters of his books. He sat in her large armchair while she was on the floor, cross legged, staring up at him. This one had been a long time in the making, and Hawke's approval made Varric's heart thump excitedly. They were sharing a bottle of rum, passing it between themselves in between paragraphs. 

Hawke felt warm and fuzzy inside, sighing happily as she rested her cheeks in her hands. Varric monitored her glowing expression as he read, gauging her reactions. Her eyes never left his face, and he found himself rubbing his nose at the end of each page. He was used to being paid attention to, but to have the devoted attention of only a single person, a person he was so close to, was something else. He felt like he had dirt on his face. He was all too aware of his imperfect teeth, and thick brows. 

"You're so handsome," Hawke hiccuped, she'd interrupted him mid-sentence. Taking another drink from the bottle, she continued, "sorry if that's weird to say." 

Varric's jaw hung open just a little bit, a thick red blush covered his cheeks and nose. Hawke giggled and handed him the bottle. 

"Unexpected," he said, accepting, "damn." He took a long drink, then turned back to his pages, shrugging off the compliment. He continued reading, but he could tell Hawke wasn't paying much attention to the story anymore. He kept reading anywhere, feeling an amused smile crossing his face as he watched Hawke. 

Once he finished the last two pages of the chapter, he closed the folio and put it on his lap. 

"Can I help you further?" He asked, nearly cooing down at her, and Hawke giggled again. 

"Just enjoying the view," she said. He laughed loudly, bellowing for a few seconds before he managed to stop himself. Their play flirting was always fun. 

"Well, you're not so bad yourself," Varric laughed, and then he sighed, also feeling the content mood Hawke so easily made available. 

"Should we go to bed?" Hawke asked. 

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired. Maker we drank a lot," he swished the nearly-empty bottle before swigging it back and finishing it off. "Where's the guest room?" 

"We don't have one, at least not since Bodahn and Sandal moved in. You can stay with me," Hawke said, pushing herself to her feet. She'd changed into her dressing gown after dinner, and it was rare for Varric to see her so casually dressed. He saw the gnarled scars and pockmarks on her legs and arms. Despite their long standing friendship, there was something strange about seeing Hawke so devoid of physical protection. Less hero, more human.

She was huge, there was no doubt about it, her biceps and back rippled every time she reached for something, but she seemed tender somehow in the faded red silk. It was cut at the knee, sleeveless with a soft V neckline. She rubbed her hand over her shoulder, and Varric saw a deep scar he’d never seen before.

She'd fought in many battles before she came to Kirkwall, more than she'd tell him, despite him begging for more stories. She had the marks to prove it. She was never self-conscious about them, but she did make a point of wearing longer sleeves. She climbed into her bed, shooting Varric a knowing glance when she caught him eyeing her. 

"You really are enjoying the view, aren't you?" She teased, and Varric began to protest. 

"Sometimes I forget you have so much more _skin_ than me," he said, "You never told me about the scar on your shoulder."

Hawke yawned, patting the bed next to her to summon Varric over. 

"I'll tell you tomorrow," she said, and Varric pleaded as he approached the bed. He blew out the candles as he went, leaving the fire burning.

"I'm too sleepy," she yawned again as Varric got into bed with her. She rolled onto her stomach, slinging her right arm over Varric's torso. He tensed for only a second, never really getting used to the weight of Hawke's arm as it came crashing across his chest. They'd shared a bed hundreds of times over the past few years, and Varric learned the hard way that Hawke was a snuggler. He didn't mind that much, but sometimes he'd wake up completely immobilized by a mess of limbs, Hawke's face square in the middle of his chest. 

"How long have we been friends?" Hawke asked, muffled by her silken pillows. 

"Four years, give or take," Varric replied, easing into Hawke's overly-soft bed. It was even bigger than his, and Hawke pulled herself a little closer to him.

"I love you, Varric," Hawke said, falling asleep. 

"I love you too, Hawke," Varric replied, closing his own eyes and drifting off. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *it's always sunny music* The Gang Goes to the Fade

The night Hawke went into the Fade, she couldn't have predicted what would happen inside. She stood with Isabela, Fenris, and Varric, anxiously picking at her heavy gauntlets. The keeper of the Dalish was on her way, and nobody seemed that enthusiastic about delving into the Fade. 

When the keeper arrived, Hawke perked up, eager to help Feynriel. They had a short discussion, and then almost as quickly as the ritual began, they awoke in the Fade. 

Everything felt fuzzy, like they'd just swallowed three bottles of booze but never got sick. Hawke looked around, seeing how the others were taking to it. She was breathing, but it didn't feel natural. She didn't like this place. 

Varric put a hand on her lower back, and she glanced down at him. They nodded to each other, and Hawke set her jaw. She told everyone to wait when she spotted a floating book near a pillar. 

The rest of her friends had to watch as Hawke chased the book, vanishing every time she made a move to catch it. When she managed to touch it once, it fell flat to the floor, and when she picked it up, she let out a grunt. She touched her forehead as a pulse of pain shot through her.

"What is it?" Fenris asked, stepping forward. He was the most wary of them all. She shook her head, tossing the book over her shoulder. 

"I feel stronger," she said with a smile, "not sure why." 

As they slipped from room to room, Hawke arranged barrels, once again grunting and claiming a different aspect of her felt more powerful. Finally, content with the layout, Hawke and her companions entered the main hall. 

A demon slithered towards them, he spoke, calling himself Torpor, and he offered Hawke power in return for the Mage he was holding captive. Fenris tensed, warning Hawke not to listen, and she nodded at him. 

"I don't deal with demons," she said, pulling her axe from her back. The rest followed her lead, reading their weapons, and Torpor hissed his last words telling Hawke to have it her way. 

The fight wasn't hard, not at all. Hawke cleaved through the demon like it were a common house spider. She turned to look over her shoulder at the others as they glanced around the room nervously. 

"No more shades," Hawke said, "now we have to face whatever has Feynriel captive." 

The first door the entered blocked Hawke's companions from entering. Varric shook his head, shrugging as Hawke nervously vanished into the blue light. They couldn't see her transform into Fenryiel's mother, and confront a desire demon disguised as his father. 

Convincing him his father was a fraud was easy enough, and when the young apparition darted into the abyss, Hawke found herself dizzied, but surrounded by her companions again. The demon hovered slightly, looking over the group of misfits in front of her. She taunted Isabela, and the pirate was weak to the temptation of the open sea.

Fenris fell next to the promise of power over those who had hurt him. Hawke tried to appeal to him, but she felt a sinking in her stomach when she knew he’d choose the demon’s offer. Having to fight her friends was tolling. It was heartbreaking, and she nearly broke down in tears once she knocked Fenris to the ground. She knew he wasn’t dead, but part of her feared. She’d ended up on her knees, stomach roiling as she gagged near the fading corpse. Varric could only be courteous and look away while she convulsed and eventually pushed to her feet.

Varric placed that protective hand on her lower back. She and Varric stood alone, Hawke shaking slightly as she tried to regain her composure.

“I’m here, Hawke,” Varric said softly, and the feeling of his hand was comforting. Steady, as it always was, a firm grip in their troubled reality. It was the only thing keeping Hawke together at this point. Her eyes darted around, she wasn’t magic, but she heard whispers in her head. She felt sick to her stomach, not just from the guilt.

“But what if there’s more?” She asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m here with you,” he promised, “I won’t let just anyone root around in my head. I’ll stay with you.”

“Okay,” Hawke said, taking a deep breath. Varric knew she must be feeling terrible after what she did to Fenris, but the two of them didn’t talk as they made their way back to the main hall. A short discussion with Feynriel involved Hawke convincing him to go to Tevinter. She felt a pang of betrayal in her heart as she thought of the Tevinter mage that had hurt Fenris, but she wouldn’t dare doom an innocent boy to a life of misery.

Hawke had a rough time explaining what happened to Fenryiel’s mother and the Keeper. Her head was still swimming, the voices lingering like ghosts. Varric kept his hand flat on the small of her back as he escorted her out of the alienage, the two others following behind them in a dizzied state. The Fade had sapped their energy, and even he was dragging his feet when they all stumbled into the tavern.

It was the closest place of refuge that they could find. They didn’t drink, just crawled up to their rooms. Fenris fell onto Varric’s couch despite the dwarf offering his bed, and Hawke was asleep, face down still in her armor on his bed when he came back in the room. He shook her shoulder, and she groaned, but after a few more persistent shakes she lifted her head up.

“No armor on the bed,” he said, and Hawke squinted at him.

“Fenris?” She asked and Varric shrugged, pointing to where Hawke knew his couch was. She only nodded before flopping back down, arms snaking over her body, undoing leather buckles and releasing the metal armor. She let out a puff of air as she pushed it off the bed, leaving her in the thin padding that protected her skin from the plate. Varric had set Bianca down, pulled off his duster and boots before also flopping onto the bed.

“Goodnight,” he said, but Hawke was already long gone.

They all slept heavy, and didn’t wake up until the afternoon bells were ringing. Hawke groaned as she pulled herself off of Varric’s bed, having not moved from her belly flop all night, her face was hot from the sheets. Fenris stumbled out of Varric’s study, seemingly just as confused and out of it. All three of them looked at each other, not surprised when Isabela somehow appeared in the mix.

“I should go,” Fenris slurred, hand on his head, squinting at the three of them. Hawke only nodded, sitting on the edge of Varric’s bed, and Isabela offered to see him to his estate. He accepted, and shook his head at Hawke when she started to get up, as if asking for her not to follow. She clenched her teeth, fists tightening on her padding. Varric sat under his cover, rubbing his face with his open hands, chest rumbling in between a groan and a growl. The door slammed, and he dropped his hands down, turning to look at Hawke with bloodshot eyes.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he offered, and she stood up for a second.

“Do you have anything else I can wear?” She asked, rubbing her sore throat. Varric frowned, trying to think if he did have anything, and then a flush covered his nose.

“Actually, I do,” he said, “you left a dressing gown here a few weeks ago, I had it cleaned.”

“Was it the cream one? With the lace on the back?” She asked, wrinkling her nose at him. He nodded. “Thought so, I’ve been wondering where that went. Thank you, where is it?”

“Third drawer down on the right,” he said, pointing to the smaller dresser he had. She went over, rummaging through mismatched socks and hankies before pulling out the sleepwear. She half stumbled into the bathroom, peeling the hot padding from her skin and splashing some cold water on her face from the basin. She pulled the cool silk over her skin, and walked back to bed. The injures she’d sustained in the Fade weren’t on her body now, but she still felt like she’d gotten them. Her eyes looked different in the dim light, weary, but also powerful.

She got under the covers, and rolled to face Varric who was still sitting up. He slid down in bed and rolled to face her, mimicking her behavior.

“Same, Hawke,” Varric said, “The Fade is nothing to bat an eyelash at.” Varric watched as she cast her eyes down, obviously thinking for a few seconds.

“Thank you,” She said finally, “I was really scared in there. It means a lot to me that you were there by my side.” Varric’s eyebrows could have entered orbit at how fast they raised, and he reached out to stroke Hawke’s cheek gently.

“Hawke,” he started, and she looked up at him, pressing her hand over his on her face.

“I will always be there for you,” he promised, “The Maker, Andraste, The Ancestors, you name it, they couldn’t keep me from being with you, okay? I’d tear the Fade in half for you.”

“I’d walk the world to remain at your side,” Hawke said back. “I will gladly be your muse if it means I continue to hear your stories.”

Hawke was rattled, she felt betrayed by some of her closest friends, and she needed to let Varric know how much she cherished him. It was too hard in The Fade, it was too dangerous, too much loss had occurred in that liminal space.

Death was cruel to Hawke, Varric knew that. Having to deal with Isabela and Fenris had visibly shaken Hawke to her core. Her putting her axe through Fenris, delivering that final blow, it had glazed over her brain and the very idea of having to do that to anyone she cared about was like torture.

“Hey, hey,” Varric said, moving his hand a little bit on her cheek to draw her out of her thoughts, “look at me. Look at this. We’re here, together, best friends, okay? Shit, we’re about to take a nap, and when we wake up, I’ll take you out for some of that cheese you like so much.”

Hawke smiled brightly at him, and nodded, letting his hand go.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over her shoulder with his now-free hand. Hawke scooted toward him, and he rolled onto his back, accepting Hawke’s cuddling gratefully. It wasn’t easy for him either, emotionally, but the intimate relationship he and Hawke had made it easier to fall asleep. He wasn’t riddled with nightmares like he had been earlier, it was quiet, and Hawke’s breathing mixed with the faint sound of the ocean at the docks.

After dinner, Hawke returned to her mother holding a bouquet of flowers and box of pastries. Leandra was stunned, asking why, and she only shrugged.

“I can’t buy my mother nice things?” She asked, “I want you to be happy.” Leandra could only place her hand over her heart at Hawke’s brilliant smile. She tutted over the flowers, pulling Hawke into her room where she proudly put them in her vase on the table by her bed.

“Now I’ll see them when I wake up in the mornings. Oh, my love,” she said, turning to Hawke and putting her hand on her daughter’s biceps, “how much I adore you.”

“I love you too, mother,” Hawke said, bringing her in for a tight hug. She knew she’d be up late that night, but she didn’t want to worry Leandra with it, so any sort of distraction was welcome. Hawke lied about wanting to retire early. At least, she thought she lied.

She sank low in her bathtub, letting the hot water soothe her aching limbs. She had her eyes closed; she wanted to go see Fenris and Isabela, talk to them about what happened. Apologize for what she had to do. She was so tired though, her Mabari waited in her bedroom for her, pawing at the bed, and she cast a long glance at the folios on her desk, then another to her dog and bed. He whined, and Hawke’s heart tugged, eventually pulling her away from her reading and to the soft cushion of her pillows.

Her Mabari positioned himself over her legs, a comforting weight as she drifted off to sleep yet again.

She woke up in the morning feeling much better than the day before. More clearheaded, she peeked out her window to catch the time. It was dawn, but the sun hadn’t begun rising yet, just staining the sky a swath of new colors. Hawke stoked her fire, and sat at her table, deciding to finish the work she’d put off.

Normally she wouldn’t have this much, between the mines and her usual outings, her paperwork was slim, but in the past years she’d begun offering more and more help to people. She was becoming a person of hope for most of the people who knew her. If they needed help, they knew who to send a letter to. She could be found at Anders’ clinic some of her off days, dropping off crates of supplies and assisting those who needed superficial healing.

That morning, after she sealed and handed off her last letter, Hawke decided to go visit her friend in the underbelly of the city. Anders was excited to see her, she’d proposed him going into the Fade with them, but she didn’t want anything to happen to him or Justice that could be permanently damaging. He was grateful for her care, and opened the door for her despite the early hour.

She walked in, obscured by a stack of boxes, and said a muffled hello as she passed him to set them down.

“What’s all this?” He asked, sliding up beside her as she cracked the wooden beam open with her gauntleted hand.

“Supplies. I was owed a few favors from some merchants, decided they’d benefit you and Kirkwall more than me,” she said, and Anders peered into the crates as she opened them. Elfroot potions, Lyrium potions, balms, salves, runes, bandages, and more. Everything Anders could have needed was located in these crates, in surplus. He felt a lump welling up in his throat, and he couldn’t stop himself from throwing himself into an overly tight hug with Hawke. She laughed, squeezing him tightly, and he sniffed hard once, regaining his composure.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he gushed, holding Hawke at his arm’s length “you’re always taking care of me, and the Clinic. This is outrageous!”

“Anders,” she comforted, “you’re my friend, I’m not going to stand by and watch you suffer. You helped my people so much when we first came here, you didn’t even ask anything in return. You’re a good man, Anders.”

The mage swelled with pride at the praise. Hawke’s consistent help with the mage plight was something he’d never expected. Even Fenris wasn’t as quick to bite at him anymore. He used to be treated like a joke, and he still was sometimes, but Hawke was trying her best to change everyone’s opinions. Bethany hadn’t wanted to go to the Chantry for a reason, and the more Anders shared with her, the more she understood why.

The two of them sat down, along with the supplies, Hawke had taken the liberty of buying Anders a stockade of groceries. Anders barely had the energy at the end of the day to eat, let alone do his shopping. Hawke buzzed around his kitchen while the sleepy Mage looked on with adoration in his heart. She set a hot cup of coffee in front of him, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“What do you want for breakfast?” She asked, and he groaned loudly as he thought, slumping back in his chair.

“You made that bread pudding thing for me once, it lasted me a week,” Anders hummed, rubbing his scruffy chin. He’d come up with a way to preserve his food by freezing it inside. He called it a Frigid Box, but Hawke just called it the Ice Box.

“Oh! The cinnamon one? That’s easy. If that's your plan, I’ll make you enough food to last the week, okay?” she asked, heading back to the kitchen. She hummed as she looked over his groceries, she didn’t cook for many people. She did enjoy it though. Her mother had taught her when she was young, and it was an outlet for her when she got overwhelmed. Hawke and Leandra had kept them eating well during their years in Lowtown, and Gamlen often wrote them asking for recipes. She genuinely considered cooking one of her hobbies, and Anders was one of the only people who got to regularly enjoy it these days.

“You seem… bothered. Do you want to talk about what happened?” Anders asked, leaning forward on his table as Hawke sliced bread into cubes. Her hand stilled, knife lodged deep in the loaf, and he watched her shoulders tense.

“The… The Fade,” She started, “does it change people?”

“Change people?” Anders asked, “what do you mean?”

“I… had to do some difficult things in there. I had to kill Fenris and Isabela, but not actually kill them but it was enough,” she sighed, “I feel like I can’t look them in the eyes after what I did.”

“That’s not the Fade, Hawke, that’s your nature,” Anders said, “of course you’d feel bad after that! Do you have anything else to ask?”

“Do demons linger?” She asked, much quieter this time, “because I’m still afraid. I’m… hungry, Anders, but I don’t know for what.”

Anders had never heard Hawke even mention the word ‘afraid’ outside of teasing. He sat back in his chair, hands resting open on the wood in front of him. Hawke wasn’t magic, she held no shred of it in her system, but she knew. Her father, her sister, her friends. They held magic, but for her to try to comprehend everything she’d just been through, it was probably too much.

“You’re taking things in now,” Anders tried to think of something convincing, “you always seem to review things a few days after they’ve passed. You need a distraction, so you came here.”

“It’s true,” she said, continuing her slicing, “I think I’m going to head up to The Bone Pit with Varric today, if you’re not busy, would you come? I heard a few miners got injured in a small rockslide, to would be nice to take care of them right away.”

“I don’t have anything going until the late afternoon, I needed a break after what’s been going on lately,” Anders nodded, and Hawke flashed him a bright smile.

Hawke made herself busy in the kitchen for a few hours, preparing multiple dishes for Anders to eat during the week. When she left him to his own devices, Hawke would notice how gaunt his cheeks would become. When all the food was finished, they’d eaten, and packaged the rest up, they headed out of the clinic and toward the Hanged Man.

Varric was in his study, flipping pages of his final draft to make sure they were in order before he sent them to his editor. Hawke’s noisy footfalls tipped him off only a few seconds before her head stuck itself through the door.

“Want to go to the Bone Pit?” She asked.

“Your bone pit? I don’t think so,” he joked, and Hawke laughed before Varric noticed Anders behind her, looking amused himself.

“Hey, Blondie. It’s been a while, how are things?” Varric asked warmly, getting up to grab his gear.

“Busy, as usual,” Anders said, “I have a bit of a day off today, so might as well join you two for a bit of fresh air, eh?”

“Damn good thing, too. You’re paler than the moon, Anders,” Varric said, obviously concerned as his friend became more and more reclusive. He shared his tab with Anders, but he hadn’t been around to drink much lately. Anders only shrugged, he knew he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, but there was too much at stake.

“I could use some sunlight,” he agreed, “they don’t call it Darktown for nothing.”

Varric laughed, clapping his hand on Anders’ arm. Hawke picked up a small bag of supplies that Varric kept packed.

“Good to see you can still make jokes,” Varric said warmly, and the trio set off toward Sundermount from The Hanged Man.

Hawke spent her time weaving them bracelets out of the wildflowers they passed, she hummed absently to a tune Varric started, and slid the soft florals over their wrists, beaming with pride at the simple rings. They climbed up to the mines, and Hawke waved at the miners excitedly. The workers carefully put down what they were doing to rush over to Hawke.

She spent a lot of time up here, and did a lot of reports and paperwork on how well the mine was running. She took the time to care for her men, and the morale kept the mine running smoothly. Varric noticed recently how much more productive it was, and Hawke’s paperwork increased with every passing cart.

“Hello, boys!” She greeted happily, and they all said their hellos back.

“I brought someone to take care of the men who were injured a few days ago, are they still here?” Hawke asked, bringing Anders and Varric closer. The miners knew Varric just as well as Hawke, but Anders rarely had the time to make it out to the mountain. He said hello and shook their hands, and the men directed Hawke to a tent near the edge of the camp.

“We were going to head back this evening with them, I’m glad you came so soon. You’re always looking out for us, Hawke,” one of the men said, shaking her hand again and patting her bicep.

“Of course,” Hawke assured, “what kind of business owner would I be if I didn’t care about my workers?”

“One like Hubert,” he snickered, and Hawke squeezed his hand tighter as she laughed.

“C’mon,” she said to her friends, “let’s go take care of my men.”

The tent was dingy, and there were three cots laid out inside. It stank only a little, but the site of their damaged bodies made Hawke nearly vomit. One had his legs broken, the others had suffered similar fates along with extra cuts and bruises.

“You two should leave,” Anders said, assessing the situation, “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of. Go investigate the landslide, this might take a while.”

Hawke and Varric removed themselves from the tent. They glanced at each other nervously, hoping Anders would be okay. He would probably sedate them before he began working, but the two of them wondered if they shouldn’t stand guard.

“Hey, Blondie wants us to get our work done, I guess we will.” Varric smacked his hand in the middle of Hawke’s back, nearly knocking her off her feet. She glared at him, and he could only bite his lip to try not to grin.

“Rude,” she mocked, and Varric let his smile take over his face.

“Never said I was polite,” Varric countered, and Hawke rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Neither did I.” Her big hand pushed his shoulder and he yelped as he slid in the loose gravel. The miners nearby watched the duo’s usual rambunctious antics as they headed into the mouth of The Bone Pit.

The two of them descended deep into the mines, taking out the lone spiders and cobwebs they encountered along the way. Less cleanup for later, easier traversing now. It was a win-win situation. When they got to the scene of the landslide, they were left puzzled. There were no Drakes or dragonlings to cause it, and Hawke carefully stepped through the hole in the side of the wall where the rock had crumbled.

“Be careful, Hawke,” Varric breathed, “this whole place is unstable right now.”

“It’ll be okay,” Hawke said, “I’m just taking a quick look. If the structural integrity of the Mine is becoming weaker due to our extended digs, I’m going to have to tell Hubert we need to expand outwards instead of down.”

“Geez,” Varric grunted, “and I thought I was the business guy.”

“You really think I wouldn’t learn everything about this kind of stuff after I became an owner?” Hawke asked, giving Varric a disappointed look.

“No, well, yes, I’m not sure,” he responded, following her closely as she started to go a little deeper in the new cavern.

“Watch your step,” Hawke said, just a second too late, and Varric’s foot slipped on a loose rock, causing him to go off balance. Hawke reacted instantly, lurching backwards to catch and steady him. The two of them landed heavily on their butts. The sudden motion made them both freeze as dust filtered down around them.

“You think we’re good?” He asked, and Hawke nodded, still peering around.

“Yes, we’re good,” she confirmed, righting herself once she was satisfied. She put her hands on her hips confidently. She had a big smile on her face as she looked around and the crash behind them seemed ironic and comical for the situation.

“Did we just get sealed in?” She asked, goofy smile not leaving, but her heart pounding as they were enveloped by darkness.

“Yep,” Varric said.

“And we only have a day of supplies?"

“Yep.”

“And the only person who knows where we are is Anders and maybe three miners on the surface?” She asked again.

“Yep."

_“Shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew varric playing the saxophone this week and it's the worst thing i've ever done


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cave Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didn't upload for two weeks have a 6.2k long chapter

Varric couldn’t see Hawke yet, but he heard her slide to her knees from her armor. He followed the sound and fumbled with his hands, trying to find her shoulder as she crouched. 

“Well, we have this,” She muttered, setting her faintly glowing axe in front of them. The flame rune embedded on the surface gave off little light, but it was something. 

“We’ll be fine,” Varric said, desperately hoping the words he spoke were true, “Anders and the others will come looking for us, and they’ll see what happened.” Hawke was completely silent, just a vague outline in front of Varric. He heard her fists clench on the side of her weapon, and the shake in her plate meant she was either close to tears, or just overwhelmed. 

“Hawke?” Varric asked, kneeling next to her. She didn’t respond, and he ducked his head to try to make any sense of her facial features. “Hawke?” 

“Maker,” he heard, so quiet it was barely audible over the shifting in the rocks. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He asked, and Hawke shook her head. 

“No,” she gulped after she realized he couldn’t see her movements, “I’m afraid of the dark.” 

“A-afraid of the… Hawke you’re afraid of the dark?” Varric was almost as shocked by this statement as he was about suddenly being trapped in a cavern. Hawke was trembling, he realized then, not about to cry. Just afraid. 

Shit. He was afraid too. 

"It’s nothing,” she dismissed, heart thumping in her ears. Her tone of voice was erratic, like the cry of a trapped animal about to gnaw its own leg off. “See if we have anything in the bag we can use to get out. I can try to pry the rocks free-“ 

“Hawke, that’s nuts! You’ll just bring the whole damn mine down on us, look at me,” He grabbed her face, aggressively forcing her head to look at his in the dark. Their eyes were adjusting, and the faint rune’s light gave them plenty to see now. 

“We need to think, not act. Calm down, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Hawke stared at him, and she felt herself trying to swallow her rising anxiety. Varric let go of her face, but she didn’t waver from staring, and Varric sat down, crossing his legs as he faced Hawke. The cavern was small, his back was already nearly pressed against the wall behind him. She sat back on her butt, and slid the axe between them. Varric put his hands out, palms up, and Hawke placed hers in his. 

“So the mighty Hero of Kirkwall is afraid of the dark,” he said after a reasonable amount of time passed between them. 

“Yes,” Hawke said, sounding a bit more plain than usual, “why do you think I sleep with a candle lit?” She asked with a small laugh. It was something that soothed Varric to hear, however unintentional it was. Hawke wasn’t panicking anymore. 

“I just thought you liked the smell?” He joked, and Hawke squeezed his hands. 

“You can write that, if you want. It sounds much braver than the truth, eh?” She sighed. 

“I love lying,” Varric snickered, and Hawke pulled on his hands, mimicking their habit of shoving each other without pushing him away. If anything, she gripped him tighter, and it didn’t lessen when Varric sat back again. So he let her. He was terrified too, how could he not be? They were trapped in a tiny passage in a mine, only known to an exhausted friend with other responsibilities, and maybe three men who were on their breaks. They couldn’t stop thinking about that. 

“Are you okay?” Hawke asked into the stillness. Varric heaved a sigh, his hot breath hitting Hawke’s face from their close proximity. It still smelled of the coffee he’d had that morning in his office, Hawke knew the smell of the brew anywhere. He probably had had a late night, he may not have even slept. Now he was trapped in a cave, because she dragged him along. She felt her stomach twisting, she’d gotten him into so many bad situations. 

“Thinking,” he muttered, “No? Yes? I don’t know. Just trying to make sense of the past three days.” 

“Me too,” Hawke whispered back. “You sound tired.” 

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he admitted. 

“Then why did you come? You’re welcome to reject my propo-“ 

“I’m not going to let you crawl around in some damn unstable, unmaintained, dragon infested mine by yourself,” he snapped, outrage in his words, like he was furious she’d even consider leaving him in Kirkwall. He wasn’t furious, just offended. His voice echoed in the tiny cavern, bouncing back louder and more direct each time. It rang through Hawke’s ears who knows how many times before the ghostly call faded. 

“Look, Hawke,” He said, gentler this time, hand’s squeezing hers as he maintained eye contact with Her. He wanted her to know he wasn’t angry at her; it wasn’t her fault, after all. “If I hadn’t come with you, you might have gotten stuck in here by yourself, with no supplies, and nobody smart enough to tell you not to mess with the rockslide any more than what’s already done. I’m not going to let you go dangerous places alone, okay?” 

“I’m not a child, Varric,” Hawke said sternly, but she appreciated the warmth in Varric’s words. 

“I know you’re not, neither am I, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take care of someone you appreciate.” 

“Take care of?” Hawke asked, and Varric chuckled a little under his breath. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Take care of. Shit, Hawke, you really think I treat half the people I know as nicely as you?” 

“I suppose you don’t,” Hawke smiled, and Varric nodded to her, his own grin widening. It was good to have Hawke. Her presence managed to light up the pitch black cave like the sun. 

His life had improved immensely since Hawke arrived in Kirkwall, and he wanted to make sure she was happy. Misfortune seemed to follow her, but the way she carried herself would fool anyone who didn’t see her in the off hours. 

These were the off hours. Hawke had dirt smeared on her face, and she’d pulled off some of her plate to sit more comfortably. She asked Varric to tell her stories, and he did. They had no way of telling the time down here. She’d always been particularly bad at reading her internal clock, but Varric estimated they’d been trapped for an hour. Maybe more. They might be trapped overnight, but hopefully Anders would show up by then. 

The subtle echo through the cavern as Varric told stories was making him even drowsier. He’d always been told his voice was hypnotic, and easy to listen to. Maybe it was true after all. His eyelids had been feeling heavy ever since the adrenaline had worn off, and Hawke could feel his hands drooping as they held hers up. She shifted a bit, crossing over the handle of her axe so she was sitting next to Varric, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. It was like the way he put his hand on her back, she pulled him into her side, and he nestled his head on her shoulder. 

“And then, the dragon, which was bigger than the entire Palace, crashed through the-“ Varric had to cut himself off with a yawn. Hawke’s chest moved with the low chuckle she emitted. 

“Bedtime stories,” she explained, “you’re so sleepy, Varric, you’re practically using me as a pillow.” 

Varric felt himself laughing at this, his eyes slipping closed. He reached around Hawke’s torso, gripping her tightly in a hug, she squeaked at the sudden grip, and he buried his head in her upper arm. 

“You use me as a pillow every time we sleep together, isn’t it my turn?” He asked, and Hawke’s arm relaxed on his shoulders, before pulling him in a bit closer. 

“Fair,” she said, “you should take a nap. We might need to be up in shifts to listen for help.” 

“Of all places I thought I’d be drifting off, a caved in pile of rocks with my best friend is not one of them,” he said, “but how much will you let me exaggerate our little getaway when I tell the tale?” 

“Ahhhhh,” Hawke flirted back, “a romantic encounter found in the hearts of two friends in peril. Trapped in the darkness, only having the sense of touch at their disposal. Spending their last moments together, they confess their undying love, sealing it with a kiss, and more heated, _naked_ intimacy.” 

Varric was glad it was so dark, and that Hawke wasn’t looking at his face as it flushed. She was so much bolder now, and it was hard to tell if she were at all joking anymore. Of course she was joking, they’d never even considered each other as more than friends. Partners, at most. 

But the words held weight to Hawke, and to Varric. Weight that was unknowingly mutual, but secretive and untended. _Partners_. It was the term Varric had first used with them: investors, partners. It was the word he used for her when he described her to his parents. The word Hawke used for him in her letters to her friends in Fereldan. 

_My partner, Hawke._

Nobody batted any eyelash, except for Hawke, and Varric. When they’d use the word so casually, they’d affectionately gaze at their partner. Nobody questioned it further, at least on Hawke’s end. Varric had gotten a string of angry, confused letters from his mother, but she’d always wanted a different fate for her son. Partner was their word, it belonged to no one, but if it did, it would have belonged to them. 

Hawke felt Varric fall asleep on her, as his breathing became deeper, and his head became heavier, she carefully leaned back against the rock wall behind them. It was solid, not part of the collapse, and she adjusted Varric so he was propped more on her chest, arm around his back. 

She listened through the rocks for anything, any sign of worker or blundering mage that may come to investigate the sudden vanishing of the two. Varric slept as soundly as he could, he wasn’t cold, thanks to Hawke, and he wasn’t uncomfortable, again, thanks to Hawke, but he was uneasy, even in rest. 

Hawke was forced to think, then, caught under her sleeping friend, there was little action she could do without risking waking Varric. She’d only wake him in an emergency, or if they were being rescued. So on Varric slept, and Hawke’s brain churned on. 

So much had just happened, she tried to count the minutes they’d spent, but it was hard for her. Anders had afternoon appointments; he probably wouldn’t wait around long after healing the workers. He knew they worked late. She didn’t know how many workers would actually be working outside the area that just had a massive, and dangerous landslide. Hawke would rather risk a few bumps and bruises from falling stones than die in a cave with Varric, but it wasn’t entirely her choice to make. 

When Varric cracked his dry, dusty eyes open, he had no idea where he was for a second. He closed his eyes again, not knowing what the warm, soft pillow underneath him was, but it felt better than anything he’d ever felt before. He turned his face, burying it into the padding, before he realized exactly what it was. Padding. Armor padding. Hawke’s armor padding. He was openly snuggling into Hawke’s armor padding, and the events that had happened prior to him drifting off came rushing back. He recoiled a little bit, looking up at Hawke who gazed at him in the dim light. 

“Sleep well?” She asked tenderly, brushing a few pieces of hair behind his ears. He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. She’d been more amused than surprised when Varric shoved his face into her chest, his hands gripping the cloth on her stomach. 

“Surprisingly. How long was I out?” He asked, and Hawke shrugged . 

“No idea. A few hours, maybe? It’s probably evening now, or night time. I think we’ll be stuck here until morning,” she said, and Varric groaned as he moved, joints stiff from the cave floor. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, knowing Hawke never liked skipping meals. She insisted on at least two meals a day, with snacks. She agreed, this time it was her turn to stifle a yawn. Varric pulled the bag of supplied open, rooting around inside. He brought out a water skin, and handed it to Hawke. She took a few sips, thanking him between each one, and handed it back so he could drink too. 

They split half a loaf of bread, some dried beef, and a sweet pastry Varric kept for her. She insisted on sharing it, and he didn’t reject her offer. 

“I get these things for you,” he told her as he accepted the flakey portion, “you don’t have to share.” 

“I’m not going to not share,” Hawke said, “you’re just as stuck as me.” 

“Yeah, but still,” he said, and Hawke rolled her eyes. Varric could barely see the gesture, but he knew her face well enough to identify it. He realized just how casual he was being about the whole situation, but he knew if he panicked, Hawke would panic, and that would be no fun at all. Likewise, Hawke knew if she began to panic again, Varric would begin to panic, and they needed to remain calm. 

“What’s there to even do in a cave?” Hawke asked, groping around in the dark for the water skin. Varric handed it to her, and she took another small drink. Half of the skin was already gone, but if she knew the supply pack, there was sure to be a second one. 

“Uhhhh, you want the truth?” Varric asked, unable to see if she was joking. 

“Oh, enlighten me, Varric,” She swooned, and he determined then she was joking. 

“Nothing,” He snickered, and Hawke giggled at him, stretching her arms out. She stood up, plucking the rest of her heavy plate off, and stretching her tired muscles before settling back down on the floor. 

“It’s like a sleepover, but more dire,” she said. Situations were, indeed, dire. Varric closed up the pack of supplies and slid it a ways away from him, scooting up close to Hawke so their thighs were touching. 

“Well, someone’s bound to notice we’re missing if Aveline isn’t getting stuck with our reports,” Varric said, and he felt Hawke beginning to relax again. Her shoulder slumped a bit, more pressure on his left side as she began to lean into him. It wouldn’t be comfortable for her to sleep on his shoulder, she was much too tall, so Varric cleared his throat to get her attention. 

“Hey, you need to get some rest,” he whispered. 

“Hmmmm,” she replied quietly. 

“Here, you’re too tall,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and guiding her head down to his lap, “this might be more comfortable.” Hawke shifted her weight, rolling onto her left side so she was facing Varric’s body, and the wall. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. It was starting to get colder in the cavern, night having fallen outside, and Hawke regretted not thinking to pack anything heavier to wear. Of course, these trips never lasted more than a few hours. She closed her eyes regardless, and Varric listened for her to fall asleep. She didn’t, though, and he knew. She knew, too, and tried to disguise it by breathing deeper, but it wasn’t the same pattern. One of Varric’s hands wordlessly went to her hair, fingers brushing and stroking the slightly dirty, but still soft locks on her head. After a few minutes of Varric playing with her hair, he felt her shiver just a bit, and he shrugged himself out of his overcoat. 

Hawke felt the heavy weight drape over her, warm and insulating leather and cloth. She inhaled the scnet deeply, covering it with a yawn, and a large sigh. Varric smiled in, continuing to delicately pet her hair. Hawke, now warm, and more secure in her company, fell asleep with little trouble. 

Varric absently played with Hawke’s hair as he listened to the faint dripping and shifting of the mine. He knew she could easily charge through the rocks that had fallen, but the risk was way too high for him to gamble with it. He considered asking her to use her axe as a shovel, but the weapon was brand new, and she didn’t like to break her weapons. He also wasn’t even sure it would work. He remembered the sword she’d cast aside in the Deep Roads, and the hammer she’d picked up for the three years after. He’d helped her pick out the new axe she carried, and she always asked about Bianca’s mechanics. Bianca. It had been years since he’d last heard about her. He hadn’t even thought about her in over a year. He didn’t know how to feel about her, but he was pulled out of his thought when 

Hawke rolled over, burying her cold nose in the palm of his hand. He had to bite his lip to stop a chuckle from coming out, his hand pressed flat across Hawke’s face instead of in her hair. 

If the situation were different, he’d rib her for weeks over this. If a lot of situations were different, he was sure they’d both be a lot happier, and a lot more willing to make jokes. The off hours wouldn’t be riddled with as many stories of people who once were so close to them. The off hours wouldn’t be spent with dirt on her face in a caved in mine shaft. Varric wished situations could be different, but they weren’t. There wasn’t a way to change things, as much as they both wanted, and there wasn’t any use in tripping over bumps in the road because they were too busy looking back to the past. Hawke would sleep as heavily as she always did, Varric would think of how to weave this story together for a public retelling, and both of them would wait at least a month before asking their partner how they felt about the whole situation. They’d say they wished they were different, and then they’d move on. It was a routine they’d been through many times. 

Hawke groaned in her mouth, rubbing her eyes to free them of the dry sand, but found more grit being deposited on her face. 

“Oh, gross,” she mumbled, pushing herself up on her elbow, and hearing a rough grunt from behind her. She slid back down, rolling over to face Varric, and apologize for digging her elbow into his leg. 

“Sorry, didn’t realize you were as squishy as my bed,” she said, and Varric smiled as he rolled his eyes. 

“I could say the same thing to you, you big softie,” he said, ruffling her hair. He saw her mouth shift, and realized she was probably sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Oh, very mature,” he snickered, and she sat up from his lap. 

“Like I’ve _ever_ been mature!” She said back. She looked around a little in the dark before sighing. 

“Nobody came?” 

“Not yet.” 

Hawke got up, stepping carefully over to a more secure wall. She ran her fingers over it, feeling for cracks. “We could always see if there's a way for us to get out,” hawke muttered, and Varric looked at her, she had mellowed out, and was using her brain. 

“The air is stagnant, Hawke,” he said, and she groaned loudly, careful not to flop on the ground for fear of another crash. It hadn't been that long, it was probably the creeping, early morning hours of the day after they'd gotten stuck, but nearly 24 hours in a hole was still a long time to be stuck in a hole. 

Varric didn't like being underground any more than Hawke did. As the time ticked on, they both tried to keep their bodies and minds active. Varric paced lightly in the small room, stopping to look at the wall every few cycles. He mumbled to himself, and Hawke would toss more useless ideas his way. He could hear and see her getting more dejected by the minute. He thought about all the past situations they'd been through, lost in thought when Hawke caught his attention with something strange. 

“You know what would be funny?” She asked. 

“You have time for jokes? Good. I could use it,” Varric chuckled. 

“I've got all the time in the world for you,” she cooed, and he stopped pacing when he was in front of her. She reached up to him and he sat down, settling under her left arm. 

“Well, are you ready?” She asked, like he needed to brace himself for the joke. 

“Wouldn't it be funny,” she began, “if you finally wrote that line about me biting our foes to heal me up?” This wasn't the topic Varric had expected to hear, let alone that she remembered the offhand remark he'd made years ago when she had blood smeared near her mouth after a particularly rough fistfight. She hadn’t bitten her opponent, but she’d punched his face hard enough to splatter her with more blood than he thought could come from a nose. 

“You remembered that?” He asked, and Hawke nodded enthusiastically. “Are you just hungry or something?” 

“I'm _always_ hungry,” she corrected, and Varric chuckled. Hawke’s arm on his shoulder squeezed him into her side, a casual hug that left him exhaling a puff of air like a fireplace bellow that got stomped on. 

“Well, don't eat me,” he said, wriggling a bit so he wasn't completely crushed by her loving embrace. She loosened her hug, and he sighed in relief. “You're so strong, Hawke, I'm surprisied your clothes don't tear at the seams from your chiseled, rippling form.” 

Hawke laughed loudly, snorting as she tried to regain her composure. 

“You're just dreaming of seeing me naked,” she snickered, and Varric’s laugh rattled her rib cage in their proximity. 

“If I wanted to, I'd just ask. We both know I’m irresistible,” Varric said, and Hawke could feel the grin on his face. 

“You know I'm a people pleaser,” she purred, and Varric could only laugh again. 

“You don't take after your mother, do you?” 

“Not at all,” Hawke sighed, “I don't talk about my father much, do I?” 

“Not enough to sate my appetite, but I'll understand if you think I can't stomach it,” Varric teased. Hawke’s stomach growled loudly and she groaned at his puns. 

“I'll give you a feast,” she said, “all you have to do is ask.” “Well, will you tell me about Malcom?” 

“I look like him, I'll say that much. My siblings always did look like mother, but if you need a near spitting image, my face is pretty close. He was an apostate mage, and he loved us. He… was a trouble maker. That's what my mother would say. We used to pull so many pranks in Lothering,” Hawke chuckled under her breath, and Varric stole a glance at her face, seeing her smiling in the faint light. 

“He was so proud of me when I started leaving spiders in the Chantry stocks. He used to say ‘there’s my little miniature me!’ when I’d be a rascal. I wasn’t the most well behaved little brat, but I did listen to my father. Sometimes I cut it a little too close for comfort. Templars were always sniffing around our place, but we managed to avoid them once I decided to train as a warrior. My father was… happy, I guess, that I didn't inherit magic from him. Sometimes I wonder, though, what it would have been like to be closer to him in that way. I was never quite what my mother wanted, but father was always so proud of me,” Hawke sniffed a bit, but her tone remained steady, “I miss him. Not all the time. Sometimes it's when we’re drinking with Cullen, sometimes it's when I’m stuck in situations like this. I wonder if this is what he would have wanted for me, or if he'd still be proud. There's so many questions I want to ask. Being in the Fade was so… it felt like the closest i’d ever get to _feeling_ like he did. I just… wish he were here.” 

“I'm sure he’d love to be in a stinky cave too, Hawke,” Varric said, “but thank you. For telling me, that is. Shit like that's tough.” 

“I appreciate you listening. I don't like to whine about my past,” Hawke said, “but sometimes it builds up.” 

“I don't think anyone likes bringing up the shit they did years ago, at least not in Kirkwall.” 

“You're right about that,” Hawke hummed, and they fell back into silence. 

“I was supposed to meet up with Aveline last night,” Hawke said, “maybe she’ll send someone out here if she finds out what happened.” 

“I hope so,” Varric said, “no offense, Hawke, but staying in a stinky cave with you until we die doesn’t feel like a great way to go.” 

“No offense taken,” Hawke chuckled, “but I think you’re the one stinking it up.” 

“Hey, I took a bath before we came here, you, on the other hand? You stink worse than that pride demon did,” he said back, and she giggled quietly. She puffed out a big sigh, there wasn’t much else for her to do. There wasn’t much to talk about. She’d adjusted to the dark, surprisingly, but the lack of vision still made her anxious. The closer she could sit to Varric, the better. 

The two of them passed the time quietly passing story ideas back and forth. Varric was looking to start another small book series, and he was asking if he could base it around their lesser adventures. Hawke began recalling details for him, she could be absent minded at times, but her memory never seemed to fail her when she needed it. 

“Well, it was thirteen spiders, bu-“ she froze in the middle of her sentence, and when Varric went to ask her further she shushed him harshly. She was silent in the dark for a long moment and then shot to her feet, letting out a ground-shaking roar toward the rocks that had blocked their path. 

“What the fuck?” Varric asked when Hawke stopped to regain her breath. 

“There’s someone outside,” she panted, rearing back up and setting her feet before beginning another deafening call. The words sank into Varric’s ears as he covered them with his gloved hands, and before he knew it, there was hollering on the other side of the door too. 

“Hawke? Are you all right?” It was muffled, but it was Aveline. The two other voices, Merrill and Fenris, also called in to see how they were handling the situation. 

“Yes! Varric and I are fine!” Hawke called back, and Varric approached, still a bit stunned from her shouting. 

“Yeah, we’re okay,” he said, shaking his head toward Hawke, “but what are you, broody, and Daisy going to do about the rock slide?” 

“It looks stable enough,” he heard Merrill chirp, and Fenris muttered something inaudible through the rock. 

“Can I bash it?” Hawke asked, and the entire conversation went silent. 

“Bash it?” Aveline asked. 

“Yeah! Bash it! Can I run through it? Like, with my shoulder?” 

“Bash it…” It was three voices who said it at once, and then the three echoed the thought over and over again. 

“Hawke,” Aveline said gently, “you’re an idiot, and I care about you but-“ 

“I can bash it, can’t I?” Varric could see the outline of her mouth turning into a wicked smile. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” came Aveline’s sighed reply. Hawke skittered back, giggling hysterically as she put all of her plate back on, pulling her helmet from her backpack. 

“Varric,” she said before pulling the metal over her head, “step back.” 

Varric did as he was told. Hawke took a couple of deep breaths, standing as far back as she could, before bolting off at a sprint toward the rocks. She collided with them, grunting as she threw her entire body mass into it, and when she backed off, there was a sizeable dent. 

“One more?” She called. 

“One more!” Merrill called, and Hawke backed up again, repeating the process not one, but five more times. 

On the sixth run, Hawke didn’t stop when she hit the rock, instead, she pushed through it, and momentum kept her running. She was falling due to the debris at her feet, but Fenris’s arms stopped her inches from the floor of the mine. He propped her back up, and she tugged her helmet off, smiling widely at him and all her friends. 

“I _told_ you we didn’t need to spend the night down here!” Hawke said as Varric stepped out of the cove, squinting at the incredibly bright, dim, underground lighting. 

“Look, I wasn’t about to have you bring a boulder down on top of us,” Varric said, and Aveline hummed to get their attention. 

“Varric is right, Hawke. I’m glad you waited, it was the smart thing to do,” she said, approaching Hawke and setting a hand on her shoulder, “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

Hawke returned Aveline’s gentle smile before scooping up Merrill and swinging her through the air in a hug. Merrill squealed with shock and delight, smiling just as wide and giggling just as hard once she was put back on the ground. 

Fenris didn’t say much to her, they hugged and nodded at each other, and then the party of five headed back to Kirkwall. 

That night, Hawke sank low in her bathtub, having spent her remaining energy eating as much as she could in the kitchen before her mother chased her up the stairs for spoiling her dinner. Of course, she hadn’t spoiled her dinner, and Leandra knew that just as much as Hawke, but she wanted to remind her daughter that she still cared about her in her own special way. 

Varric spent the night talking to Isabela, who confided her guilty feelings over what happened in the Fade. 

“Hawke isn’t going to be mad at you,” Varric tried to tell her, but the pirate just shuffled her drink from hand to hand. 

“I know… I know, but… I still feel bad, you know? I wanted to say no, and the way Hawke just _knew_ I couldn’t… it’s been eating at me,” she said. 

“There’s bits of the Fade that linger, I suppose,” Varric said, his own heart thumping in his chest. Hawke had mentioned she felt different, he did too, and Fenris seemed much quieter than usual. 

“But besides that,” Isabela said, a smirk crossing her face, “how did your little romantic getaway with Hawke go? It seems like ages since you two had some _alone time_.” 

“It went great,” Varric joked back, “she said yes to my marriage proposal, and we’re honeymooning in Orlais. All thanks to an unstable mine shaft!” 

“Oh _do_ bring me back something! You two are just the cutest!” Isabela reached over and pinched his cheek before he could swat her hand away. She was just as in on the joke flirting as Hawke was, but the few drunken patrons lingering, and Corff, didn’t. He raised his eyebrows, and Varric just winked at the bartender, signaling it was nothing but a tall tale. He nodded, and went back to polishing the cup he was holding. 

The very next morning, Varric wasn’t surprised to find Hawke sticking her head into his office space, asking if he wanted to come to Hightown with her. By the expression on her face, he could tell they were about to have a little meeting with Hubert. 

“Do you regret telling me anything you did back there?” Varric asked as Hawke kicked a rock in the street. The walk wasn’t unbearably long, and what did surprise Varric was how happy he still felt to see Hawke despite their close quarters for the past however many hours. 

“No,” Hawke smiled, eyes not leaving the ground where she looked for her next stone to kick. “I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want you to know. That’s how it works, right?” 

“Are you keeping secrets, Hawke?” Varric asked, and Hawke giggled, punting another stone across the ground. They both watched as it collided with a nearby pile of rubble, causing a cloud of gravel and dirt to poof into the air. Hawke didn’t answer his question, just giggled again and they kept walking. 

Everyone had secrets, Varric knew that much, but as he stayed half a step behind his best friend, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Hawke’s secrets were. He was with her all the time, at least since she’d arrived in Kirkwall, and they’d met formally. What did she not want to tell him? 

Hawke had secrets. Of course, none of them were terrible. She’d kept secrets like “My Father was an Apostate Mage” or “My own sister was also an Apostate Mage!” her whole life. Hawke’s secrets, as an adult, weren’t nearly as severe as those, but still things she felt the need to keep private. She noticed Varric lingering back, ever so slightly, and she adjusted her pace, placing her left arm around his shoulders warmly. 

Varric didn’t ask any more questions, just leaned into her side, trusting her enough to know that she wasn’t keeping anything vital from him. 

“Hello, Hubert!” Hawke greeted warmly, but when Varric glanced up at her face, he saw the twisted smirk on her face. The mine owner looked clammy; nervous, as he’d already heard about the initial collapse, but had yet to hear Hawke’s report. 

“H-hello, Hawke,” He greeted back, and Hawke removed her arm from Varric’s shoulders, crossing them over her chest as she cocked her head to the side. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of the increasing instability in The Bone Pit,” she began, “I’m not sure if you know just how severe of an issue this is, or the fact that my Partner and I got trapped after a cave in for over a day.” 

“What! I heard no such thing!” Hubert snapped, and Hawke raised her eyebrows at Varric, who took the cue to speak up. 

“Look, Hubert, I’d much rather be back at the Hanged Man than confronting you on this issue, but it’s the truth. If you want. I can take you down there and show you where Hawke used her gigantic muscles to break us out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll get to experience it for yourself,” Varric said, rolling his eyes as he supported Hawke’s claims. 

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” He grunted, and Hawke laughed sharply. Varric didn’t see this side of her often. 

“Start sending more supplies, more medicine, and more support up to the Bone Pit. I don’t care how much it costs us, I won’t see these men slaughtered due to your selfishness. I had to take someone up to treat the men that were injured in the first collapse myself, and I’m demanding, as your co-owner, that you implement more safety equipment and cease operations, with pay for the workers, until the mine shafts have stabilized.” 

Hawke’s tone was as firm as her footing, and when Hubert saw the angry fire in her eyes, his face paled. He knew he didn’t have a choice, he’d fallen victim to her silver tongue too many times, and he knew what she was capable of when she was pressured. 

“All right, you win,” he grunted, “now get out of here before the guards think you’re causing trouble.” 

“There will be trouble next time, Hubert,” Hawke warned ominously, “if you don’t listen to me.” 

Varric followed her as she jogged down the stairs, her head held high, brows furrowed, and as soon as she was out of the market place’s earshot, she burst out laughing. Hand on her stomach, she hunched over, trying to contain her amusement. Varric joined in on her laughter, knowing the façade she was trying to upkeep was over. 

“Oh Maker, Varric,” she wheezed, “did you see his face?” 

“I thought he was going to shit himself at the end there,” Varric groaned, stomach sore from how funny it was. 

“Come on, then,” Hawke said after they’d calmed down, opening her arm again so she could put it back over his shoulder. 

“Come on _where_?” Varric asked, and Hawke’s grin didn’t fade. 

“Anywhere but my hair, it’s impossible to wash out,” she said back, not skipping a beat, and Varric shoved her away from him half in surprise at how crude of a joke she’d just made. She laughed again, regaining her balance from his push, and shoved her hands in the pockets of her civilian clothes. 

“Like you haven’t made worse,” she snickered at him, and he shrugged at her. 

“Not in the middle of Hightown,” he said back, and Hawke’s hand went back over his shoulder. 

“Want to go see Merrill? I feel like we haven’t had a good visit with her in a while,” Hawke hummed. Varric nodded, and the two of them headed off to the Alienage to see their friend. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke visits friends and it gets mushy (everyone loves hawke it's canon but this has bg fenhawke for anyone wondering)

Merrill poured tea for her two friends, giddy at having Hawke visit after such a long time in absence. Hawke had been a great friend to Merrill since she moved to Kirkwall, from deterring any Templars, to spending the night gossiping while Merrill braided flowers into Hawke’s hair. With Hawke getting busier and busier by the day, Merrill didn’t know how to express the fact she missed her friend dearly. 

“It’s been so long,” Hawke sighed, hugging Merrill over the shoulders from behind, the elf pat Hawke’s hands as they crossed over her collarbone. Hawke released Merrill with a kiss on the top of her head, and took her seat at the small table between Varric and Merrill. 

“I know!” She said, suddenly much more confident and comfortable, “I’ve missed you so much. How has business been with you two?” 

“You know how it is, Daisy,” Varric sighed, “Uneventful.”

“Except it is,” Hawke chuckled, “we just got stuck in a mineshaft on routine business.”

“Hey, that’s your business, not mine,” Varric winked, and he turned back to Merrill who was looking back toward her small kitchen.

“Don’t worry about snacks,” he said, bringing her attention back to the conversation, “how have things been going with you? Have you heard anything from the Dalish Camp?” Merrill sighed, pushing her tea from one hand to the other. Hawke furrowed her brows, wondering if she’d gotten any news or information lately. 

“Not really, but that’s to be expected. I left of my own will, they aren’t required to check up on me, that’s why I appreciate it when you two do.” Merrill smiled at them, and Hawke reached out to touch her hand. 

“Whatever you need, Merrill,” she said steadily, “I’m your friend, you’re always welcome to drop by my house unannounced. It seems everyone does these days.” Merrill giggled and thanked Hawke. 

“And Daisy, come to the Hanged Man more often, Isabela’s been missing you,” Varric said, lifting his eyebrows a little bit. Merrill blushed, knowing exactly what Varric was referencing, and she waved her hand to dismiss his comment.

“She can miss me all she wants, she owes me dinner and she knows it!” Merrill huffed, her smile not leaving her face as she joked with the two. 

“Ooooooooooooooh,” Hawke teased, “does our little Isabela have a crush on Merrill?” 

Varric laughed, and Merrill covered her nose and mouth with her hand, trying not to show her cheeky grin. 

“Maybe a little,” Merrill confirmed, and Hawke gasped, standing up so fast her chair nearly toppled over. 

“I’m so happy for you!” She congratulated. “Is this why Isabela’s been leaving us alone?” She directed to Varric, and he shook his head.

“I wouldn’t say she’s leaving us alone, she’s not leaving me alone at least. But, really, Merrill, come have drinks with us tonight. Everyone’s going to be there, well, at least everyone who matters,” he said, resting his cheek on his fist.

“And who would that be?” Merrill asked.

“Why, Me and Hawke, of course,” he smirked, and Hawke stumbled as she got back in her seat, stifling another bout of laughter. 

“Of course, of course!” Merrill grinned back, “I’ll consider it. It has been a while since I saw everyone. Aveline is always kind, but climbing up Sundermount with Fenris was still a bit… uncomfortable.” 

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Hawke apologized, knowing the two never really got along. Fenris’ aversion to mages had calmed a lot in the years in Kirkwall, but he was still vocal more often than silent about his distaste in their company. 

“I know he’s been through so much, but I still don’t think it’s an excuse to be so rude,” she sighed, “I’ve never done anything to him, and I never would!”

“Would you like me to talk to him?” Hawke asked, and Varric made a noise in the back of his throat in agreement. 

“Would you? What would you say? I wouldn’t want him to get upset or dislike me mo-“ Hawke cut her off, knowing she’d ramble on for minutes if she didn’t. 

“I’ll ask him if he’d keep his thoughts private around you, I won’t mention we spoke, just what I heard when we were walking back to Kirkwall,” Hawke promised, knowing she’d have to confront Fenris sometime soon anyway. 

The three of them finished their tea and spoke for about an hour more before Hawke and Varric headed out to the Hanged man. Merrill kissed them both on the cheeks as they left, waving goodbye warmly from her door. 

Hawke said goodbye to Varric, and the two embraced briefly, Hawke turning down the hallway to Isabela’s door. She knocked gently, and Isabela’s voice came through the door.

“Who is it?” She asked.

“Hawke,” Hawke replied. 

The door opened, and Isabela stood there, eyes wide. 

“Can we talk?” Hawke asked, and Isabela nodded.

“I’ll buy us a drink,” she nodded. The two of them made their way down to the bar, Isabela slid her coins across the counter, and Corff placed two drinks in front of them, turning his back so he wouldn’t intrude on their conversation. Isabela took a big gulp of her ale to cushion whatever blow Hawke was about to give her, but that blow never came. 

“I wanted to talk about what happened in the Fade,” Hawke said softly, “I’m not angry, I just want to talk.” 

“What?” Isabela asked, “You’re really not angry?” 

“Of course not, Isabela.” Hawke took a sip of her drink and placed a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder, “I know you… Well, I’d like to say I know you well enough to say you’d never do that to me outside of the Fade, but even if you would, I trust your judgement.”

“Y-you _trust_ me?” Isabela stuttered, almost more shocked by that statement than the entire events of the past few years. Hawke could only giggle. There was always that reaction when Hawke confided her trust in people.

“Of course I do. Is it smart? Maybe not, but I want to see the good in people, and I see a lot of good in you, Isabela.” Hawke flashed one of her diamond smiles at her, raising her cup in a mock toast.

Isabela didn’t know what to say, she choked on the lump in her throat when she tried to say ‘cheers’. They tapped cups, and drank, Isabela’s cheeks flushed and Hawke humming happily. 

“So that’s it then?” Isabela asked, curious as to Hawke’s real, true feelings. 

“I promise,” Hawke nodded, taking another drink, “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

“I-I appreciate that,” Isabela nodded, “shit, I was expecting… more?”

“More?” Hawke asked, cocking her head to the side curiously. 

“You’ve got a flair for the dramatic, my darling,” Isabela grinned, and Hawke winked, making a kissy face at her. Isabela returned the expression and they both started giggling. Hawke finished her drink, pecking Isabela’s cheek as she said her goodbyes, and told her she’d be back later. Isabela waved goodbye, watching Hawke as she left. She didn’t look back, never glanced over her shoulder, and Isabela wondered when the moment would come that Hawke would pause, and look back for once. Isabela wondered who Hawke would hesitate for, if she’d hesitate for anyone. 

Hawke made her way to the dilapidated building she’d grown so fond of. That night so long ago that Fenris had asked for her assistance, she hadn’t hesitated to rush to his aid. She knocked in a sequence everyone in her merry band of misfits knew, a signal to Fenris that a friendly face was approaching. Hawke had forgotten to knock once, and despite how close she was with Fenris, she’d found herself face to face with his glowing skin, a hand reaching toward her chest before he realized exactly who was standing in his entryway. 

“Hello?” She called into the mansion’s dirty belly. She’d have to come over soon and help him tidy up. Fenris didn’t seem to see the grime that accumulated, too focused and present on other things than his surroundings. He’d broken a vase recently, and Hawke had watched as his nervous pacing wasn’t interrupted by the shattered urn, but Fenris stepped his bare feet over it as if he’d been doing it every day since he’d moved in. 

“Hello.” It was faint, an echo through the hallways coming from his sitting room. He sounded sober enough, but it was the middle of the day, and he did have control over himself. Hawke stepped carefully through the clutter to find Fenris sitting near his fireplace, the orange glow burning low like it hadn’t been tended in hours. His cheek was rested on his fist, and he didn’t move his eyes from the fireplace, even as Hawke approached him. He seemed less lost in thought, and more like a wounded dog, not wanting to meet the eyes of the person whom he’d left to get injured in his failure. 

“How are you?” She asked, taking a seat near him, her eyes not leaving the side of his face, but she understood the lack of eye contact. Fenris liked to stare, but not at people. 

“About as fine as I always am,” he replied curtly, and Hawke frowned. 

“Fenris-“ she stared, but he cut her off with a long sigh.

“I am sorry,” he said quickly, “that I cannot be as strong willed as you deserve.” 

“What?” Hawke asked, physically recoiling at the sudden accusation. 

“I failed you in the Fade, and I continue to lack the knowledge of why it upsets me that I did. You’re no master of mine, you’ve made it clear so many times that I am no longer a slave, but I can’t figure out why I wanted so desperately to remain at your side and fight off those temptations,” Fenris said, still gazing into the dying light in front of him.

“Fenris…” Hawke trailed off, carefully reaching out, letting her hand hover over his shoulder before he nodded, letting her know it was okay to touch him.

“I love you,” she said, just enough for him to hear it, and she saw his eyes shift to glance her way. 

“You will _always_ be enough,” she continued, “falling prey to demons is nobody’s fault, especially not yours. You did so well, you always do so well for me, and for all of us. I don’t want you losing any sleep over this, I don’t want you worrying or upset or clinging to the idea that you somehow… _failed_ me. You didn’t, you never failed me. I was afraid _I_ had failed _you_ in there. I was so scared you’d hate me for what I had to do in there, but this isn’t about me.”

“You thought _you’d_ failed _me_?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow as he dropped his hand, turning his head slightly to face Hawke. She nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up in a hint of a smile. His brows knit together as he went over what she said, glancing back to the side, confusion and curiosity crossing his face. 

“You _love_ me?” He asked again, and Hawke nodded, knowing that it may have been the first time he’d ever heard her say those words. She couldn’t remember if she’d uttered it between shaking sobs in the deep roads when he apprehensively held her to his chest, attempting to comfort and soothe her after the ordeal she’d been put through. She may have, she may have said it softly in the night when she crept from his mansion, Fenris long asleep after they split bottles of wine and told stories. 

Hawke loved Fenris, and it was as real as the air they were breathing. He didn’t know what to say, what to feel. His heart pounded in his ears, and he stared at Hawke with his large, unblinking eyes, trying to convey every feeling of gratitude he’d ever felt for her through his stare. 

“You don’t need to say it back,” she assured, just happy that he knew, and he smiled at her. Hawke felt her smile growing wider when Fenris reached out and took her hand from his shoulder, squeezing her palm between his slender fingers. The two of them didn’t always have it easy, there were a lot of differences, and tension that they were constantly battling to stay together, but Hawke and Fenris were both the type to appreciate a good fight. 

“Thank you, Hawke,” Fenris said, and they both turned back to the fire. They spoke more, discussing the Fade, discussing their pasts, discussing each other. There was no haze or fog in either of their minds, and the hours ticked away like the logs Hawke tossed onto the fire every time the embers got too close to going cold. Hawke brought up Merrill, Fenris apologized, knowing his stubborn ways weren’t always the most acceptable, and Hawke just asked he try to keep negative responses to private discussions.

The two walked hand in hand through Hightown, the late evening chill causing small shivers to run down their spines. Hawke plucked flowers from the hanging ivy, telling Fenris their names, and places of origin before tucking them into his hair. He never knew how she knew so much about plants, she had grown up in rural farmland, but it was baffling how quickly she could identify an entire forest by the leaves she found on the ground. 

They arrived at the Hanged Man, hair full of delicate petals, and Hawke went around the table where all of her friends sat, placing a kiss on their heads, and a flower behind their ears. She gave two to Norah, telling her how beautiful she looked that evening, and the waitress scoffed good-naturedly. 

“You’re such a flirt!” She said, shooing Hawke away from the bar before she could give Corff a whole crown of the flowers in her hands. Hawke giggled and nearly skipped back to her table, in good spirits, drinking good spirits, and listening to her friends chatter. It had been so long since everyone had gotten together, even Aveline was sitting at the knotty table, critiquing Varric’s shuffling skills as he cut the deck of cards for a game of Wicked Grace. 

_'It’s nice,'_ Hawke found herself thinking, _'to spend my time with these people.'_

Anders and Merrill were having a friendly conversation about Merrill’s new staff, a gift from Isabela, and Fenris was even laughing along with the jokes being made. Hawke’s heart thudded, and she got up from the table in a rush, excusing herself quietly and heading up the stairs toward Varric’s room. She slid the key into the door, unlocking it, and closing the door behind her. 

Hawke was so grateful to the people she’d met here, and seeing them all together, getting along in any degree, was enough to push her over the edge. She sniffed loudly, wiping a few tears from her eyes, and she coughed, trying not to laugh at herself for being such a crybaby. 

Varric had watched Hawke go, she hadn’t hesitated to slip up the stairs and he’d seen her hand reach toward the pocket he knew she kept his spare key in. He nodded at the table, getting up to follow her, and he pushed his door open. 

“Hawke?” He called, closing the door quietly behind him. Hawke’s head shot up from her hands, glancing from side to side before she sniffed again.

“Y-you should go,” Hawke said, again trying not to laugh. Varric hated seeing humans cry, he always had. She didn’t want to upset him at all, especially when she wasn’t upset. 

“Hawke! What’s wrong?” Varric rushed to her side, and when she saw his worried face, flower still tucked behind his ear, she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore. She sank down into one of the chairs at his table, Varric now just slightly taller than her, and she stopped wiping away the tears that rolled down her face. 

“I-I just love you all so much,” she said after she regained her breath, “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have all of you. I just-I got overwhelmed.” 

Varric’s face softened, reaching out he cupped her cheek with his hand, using his thumb to brush away some of the tears that fell. She covered the outside of his hand with her own, nestling her cheek into his palm as she closed her eyes. 

“You big crybaby,” Varric murmured, “you had me worried sick.”

“I love you, Varric,” she said, and she turned her head, pressing a kiss onto his palm, “sorry for making you worry.”

“I love you too, Hawke,” he promised, the feeling of her lips brushing his hand was strange, but so welcome and warm. It left his hand tingling even when she pulled it away, and he made a fist to try to preserve whatever sensation he could. Hawke wiped her face on her sleeves, and the two of them returned to the festivities outside, not sharing the conversation they’d just had with the others. 

Hawke returned to her estate that night feeling more loose and happy than she ever thought she could feel again.

Hawke hesitated outside her home, looking up at the crawling ivy, and grey stone that built the estate that had housed many generations before her. It felt so strange to stare at a structure that held memories she’d never get to see, people she’d never meet. There were stories that would never be told, conversations that would never be heard, and fires that had long since died before Hawke was even born. 

Hawke hesitated, but the moment passed almost as quickly as it had come over her. There were new memories to make, new conversations to have, and more stories to tell, and Hawke didn’t want to miss a single one. She loved her friends, she loved her family, she even loved the strange stink that clung to the Kirkwall bricks like the very city was made from something other than stone and metal, but most of all, Hawke loved the feeling that she’d finally found a group of people that cared about her just as much as she cared about them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had kind of a rough week and wanted to write something kinda gushy and lovey dovey. I also hate the canon cut scene interactions as u can probably tell and just go hog wild w my own creative freedom. I feel like I've been stagnant in my writing style for this fic since I'm finishing up an original novel alongside this, and a lot of my time and energy is being poured into that. Thank you all for reading, continuing to wait for my updates, and leaving kudos/comments/bookmarks!! It means so much to me that you're enjoying this fic. I've really enjoyed writing it, and it's already very.... very long. 
> 
> I haven't really written this much "for fun" in fandom... well since I was Homestuck lmao. I tend to stick to writing original works, and I want to let you guys know that it's been an absolute pleasure so far being able to write and post this, and have however many people actually want to read it. Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and I hope I can continue to deliver that good good DA2 content to your doorsteps every Sunday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mushy and you cant stop me

Hawke and Varric didn’t talk much about what happened in the Cave. Others asked, and they made casual jokes, but their eyes would flit to each other’s expressions to gauge the reaction. Assess the delivery of the joke, figure out exactly what was okay, and what was going too far. It was Hawke who was more careful. She was funny, but Varric was truly an expert in hiding the feelings he wanted hidden. 

Corff closed the bar around them, again, glancing to the two who huddled by the dying fire, empty cups all around, whispering in low voices that he couldn’t hear. Norah had nothing to offer, they stopped talking and smiled every time she came by; so what exactly was the topic was unclear. 

Varric had one of Hawke’s hands between both of his, and he made the occasional kissy face at her, but that was as much as they could see from behind the dim lighting and early morning exhaustion. The sound of the ocean rolled in quietly as the city fell into the soft hushes of bedtime, and the distant clanging of the Chantry bell made the two secretive figures wordlessly leave their post and head up the stairs to Varric’s room.

Hawke took a short bath, changing into her nightwear, and sitting at Varric’s table. The two had been drinking heavily, and Hawke had finally managed to worm more stories from Varric about his parents before he reached the threshold of drunkenness. After a certain amount of drinks, the two always just resorted to schmoozing and flirting across the table. What else could they do? Nothing else felt right. 

Varric leaned on the wall in his small kitchen, silently chewing something he’d pulled out of a cabinet; eyes tracing the droplets of water that slipped from Hawke’s damp hair, leaving trails down her shoulders, and eventually forming splotches on the nightgown she was wearing. He tried to count the tiny scars and pockmarks, but they crisscrossed so much he lost count trying to read the map of her skin. Her right shoulder, the one closest to him, was black and blue, bruised heavily from smashing through the rocks. Still healing, she’d refused to go to Anders when nothing was broken, but Varric had seen how dark the patches were, that nearly four weeks later it still looked brand new, and painful. Legs crossed under the table, she had her eyes closed, sipping a cup of water, head propped up on her left fist. 

“ _Wow_ ,” Varric found himself thinking, “ _I’m one lucky son of a bitch_.” 

The thought took him by surprise, and he frowned, dusting the crumbs off of his hands. Hawke heard his hands brush together, and her eyebrows rose. She tilted her head toward him ever so slightly, now opening her eyes. 

“Hmm?” She asked, setting her water down. 

“Nothing,” Varric called back softly, “just admiring the view, as always.” 

“How romantic,” Hawke slurred, hanging just over the precipice of sleep, holding onto each of Varric’s words like it were a rope keeping her steady. She laughed in her mouth, two quick noises that came out of her nose, too tired for anything more. 

“What can I say? I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Varric mused, stepping up to the table and wrapping his arm around Hawke’s shoulders, careful to not bump her swelled joint. 

“I think you’re both,” Hawke smirked, “at least, I think I know what you’re capable of.” She opened her eyes, blinking slowly up at her friend, and she smiled ever so slightly before closing them again. So much of their communication was nonverbal. 

“Not fair,” Varric whispered, “no using those puppy dog eyes against me, you know my fragile little dwarf heart can’t take it.” 

“I thought you didn’t like to be called _little_?” Hawke snickered, eyes half lidded as she felt Varric’s hand press gently on her arm. It was time for bed. 

“Hey, I’m _not_ little,” Varric countered. Hawke stood up, towering over him even in their tired, droopy state. 

“Oh I know,” Hawke smirked, eyes sliding up and down his body for a split second. Varric noticed though, of course he did. Hawke trailed her pointer finger across Varric’s exposed chest, right under the collar bone. 

“Too bad you don’t let me know for sure.” 

Varric didn’t know how to reply. He just clenched his jaw and watched her head toward his bedroom, pausing at the doorway. Her hand rested on the wooden frame, and he had to tear his eyes away from her fingers to look at her face. She stared at him with a knowing grin, one eyebrow cocked high. 

“Come to bed, my love,” she cooed, voice so sickly sweet he could have sworn it was dipped in honey and dusted with sugar. Fake, of course, it was their domestic voice for each other. They used it so often in public it was a bit jarring to hear in a private context where they weren’t acting for other people. 

_Sweetheart._

_Darling._

_My Love._

The three pet names echoed though their conversations, joking in front of merchants as they purchased items, pretending that they were some strange family with whomever was in their company. Isabela would call them the group parents, watching them pick up articles of clothing and crossbow oil on weekly shopping trips, discussing meal plans over the baskets of herbs, helping pick cut flowers for the estate’s tables. Varric and Hawke both always looked forward to their excursions. A chance to pretend they were normal citizens in Kirkwall, an act they desperately wanted to make normal, but how could they at this point. 

The two of them settled down into bed together, Hawke curling close to Varric. She took one of his big hands in hers, planting a small kiss on his knuckles, and he did the same for her. Proximity had become less of an issue over the years, but these moments of tenderness were rare, even fleeting in their friendship. As affectionate as they were, there was little time for private intimacy between friends. She didn’t let his hand go, instead nestling her head on his shoulder, and falling asleep instantaneously, leaving Varric to lie awake pondering all the words they’d shared that night in the bar. 

They were tracking a murderer, the same murderer they’d tracked in their first year traveling together, but the case was complex, and running low on clues. Hawke was trying to share information, but they were running on empty. Hawke had been working herself ragged trying to find answers, upset and uncomfortable with the prospect of a serial killer lurking in the shadows of the town she now called home. Varric was so busy finishing his latest book that she never bothered to come calling for him. Solo work, yet again, but this time she wasn’t avoiding him. 

If anything, she seemed to be returning to The Hanged Man more regularly than her own estate. Sweaty, slightly grimy, sometimes her Mabari on her heels as she flopped into her usual chair and blew a kiss and a wink to the bartender when he sent Norah over with her usual order. Hawke would join Varric’s evening like clockwork. Nothing was wrong at home, she assured him, she just enjoyed unwinding in his company. 

Varric’s mind wandered, but it was late, and he found himself too tired to think anymore. He drifted off to the faint crashing of waves, and Hawke’s reliable breathing. He felt so relaxed after their night together, he almost didn’t want to fall asleep and let it end. He’d passed off the final draft of his book, she was free from any tasks for the next few days. The rolling thunderstorm that arrived in their slumber didn’t disturb them at all. 

Hawke and Varric slept in late, the sound of the rain only lulling them deeper and deeper into the warmth of their rest, drowning out any chantry bell that could have woken them from such a deep respite. When they stirred, Hawke let out her usual closed mouth groan, and nestled her cheek into the space between Varric’s chest and shoulder, eyes still closed as she stifled a yawn. Varric’s chest puffed out as he yawned, thunder growling angrily overhead. They laid in bed together, half awake, listening to the storm. 

“Sounds nasty out there,” Varric heard Hawke murmur, cheek flat on his chest, lips pushed open just barely by the angle. Varric made a noise of agreement, rubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead. He wasn’t tired anymore, but he knew Hawke could fall asleep in an instant. 

“Are you still tired?” 

“I could sleep,” she agreed. 

“I’ll make you breakfast if you let me up,” Varric promised. They’d gone shopping yesterday, and Hawke’s eyes cracked open, closing her slightly-open mouth, she pushed herself up. 

Wincing as she did, Varric frowned at her shoulder. He sat up after her, hand barely grazing the bruise. 

“Darling, listen,” he said softly, “you really need to go see Anders-“ 

“No.” Hawke said firmly, interrupting him, “there’s nothing wrong with getting healed by magic, but sometimes it makes you forget your own mortality. If you don’t feel any pain at all, what’s the point? A bruise isn’t going to kill me, and there isn’t much Anders can do about it anyway. I haven’t gotten a good bruise in months.” 

Hawke smiled at him, assuring him that she was absolutely fine, and he sat back, letting his hand slide to the blanket top. He looked her over, droopy eyelids, face and arms creased with red lines from sleeping, sitting cross-legged under his covers like she wasn’t one of the most dangerous, powerful humans in Kirkwall. 

“Hawke,” Varric said impulsively, stuttering a bit before his face softened, “I just wanted to say thank you for being my friend.” 

Her face lit up, eyes growing wide, smile brighter than the sun over the wounded coast at noon. 

“Thank you for being my friend!” She mirrored,, reaching her hands out and taking his. She squeezed his hands tightly, and they sat in a mutual silence, gazing lovingly upon their partner’s face. 

Varric got up, Hawke following him, barefoot, to the kitchen. She took her seat, yawning loudly to emphasis that she’d rather be getting served breakfast in bed, but Varric was quick in making their food, and sat down at the table in the chair nearest hers. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Hawke said politely, accepting the fork Varric slid across the table to her. 

“I feel like I’m always feeding you, one way or another,” Varric said, corners of his mouth upturning as he watched Hawke dig into her plate. She’d never been self-conscious about eating: she would encourage everyone around her to eat with just as much gusto, claiming the only way to keep the body running smoothly was to fuel it properly. 

Hawke helped with the dishes, and the two retired back to Varric’s bed, Hawke toting a stack of books and Varric with a thick bundle of mail he’d let gather dust over the past week.   
The two coexisted, which was a beautiful thing in their minds. They filled the air with idle chatter, Hawke thumbing pages, Varric signing his, and the only indicator of time was how noisy the bar became as the night hours crept upon them.

While it was tempting to return to the den of The Hanged Man, tuck up in the corner and talk, Hawke wanted nothing more than to stay in her sleeping gown on Varric’s bed. 

“What will Corff say if I go out there like _this_ ,” Hawke smirked as they argued over who would go get the drinks, gesturing to her nightwear, and Varric rolled his eyes. 

“Put on your clothes, then,” he teased. 

“To get a bottle of whiskey? You’re mad Varric, the Cave must have really disconnected you from society after all!” She nudged him with her elbow, and he sighed, pulling himself out of bed. Anything to make her happy. He grumbled as he pulled on his shoes, Hawke giggling as he exaggerated his movements and complaints, pausing at the door to shoot her a leveled glance. 

“You’re paying,” he grinned cheekily, and before Hawke could protest, Varric slipped from his rooms and headed down to the bar to get their drinks. Corff leaned on the bar expectantly, looking up at the staircase briefly as Varric approached. 

“Hawke not leave yet? I haven’t seen her all day!” Corff exclaimed, and Varric shrugged. 

“No, she’s still here,” he said, pausing to point at the bottles he wanted, “it was raining, said she didn’t want to walk back to Hightown in a storm.” 

“Makes… sense? Didn’t she wear her armor though, she wouldn’t get soggy in full plate.” Corff mused, pulling two bottles of whiskey down from the shelf behind him. 

“Still, you’ve got half of Kirkwall talking about you two. Hope you don’t mind me asking if the rumors are true,” Corff slid the bottles across the bar, and Varric raised an eyebrow. 

“Hawke’s tab,” he informed, “and I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever rumors are going around are just rumors, and you and Isabela are probably the ones who started them.”

Corff grinned, face flushing as he rubbed the back of his neck. He and Isabela loved to gossip, and Hawke would often sit in on their long chats. He saw everything from behind the bar, even if it wasn’t the clearest image. 

“All right then, maybe Hawke will give me a straight answer,” he chuckled, and Varric nodded back, catching the eye of Isabela who sat at his usual table, Merrill holding a hand of cards across from her. He grabbed the bottles, and walked over to the two ladies, who were hiding their mouths and giggling. 

“Daisy, Rivaini,” he said warmly, pulling up a chair, “how’s the cards this evening?” 

“Good!” Merrill chirped, “I’ve beaten Isabela three times!” 

“I’m letting you win,” Isabela countered, puffing up her cheeks. 

“Right, right,” Varric smirked, knowing he and Merrill had been playing cards regularly again, improving the tiny elf’s skills at the sport. 

“Hawke is still here? I heard Corff mention it,” Isabela asked, setting her cards down. Merrill glanced between the two, and Varric hummed in his throat, popping open one of the bottles and taking a sip before offering it to the others. Isabela accepted, and Varric continued talking. 

“Yeah, she had a rough couple of weeks. It was raining, she wanted to stay. What, am I going to turn her out in the rain? I’m a dwarf, not a monster,” he said, a disbelieving smile on his face. 

“Hawke is still staying with you? She’s been telling me she’s been busy at the estate!” Merrill said, and Isabela nodded. 

“She hasn’t had much time outside of scrubbing Kirkwall’s streets, but she hasn’t visited any of us in nearly a month, I only see her when she’s with you,” Isabela agreed, and Varric shrugged. 

“We’ve been working on her biography,” he tried to lie, but he saw Isabela’s eyes pierce him. She knew he wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t. He didn’t know what to tell her. Hawke liked to sit on his bed and read the books he had, she liked to drink with him, and… Well, shit. He liked all those things too. 

“Are things all right with her mother?” Merrill asked, voice full of worry betraying the confidence in her face. 

“From what I’ve seen, things are better than they have been in a while,” Varric said, taking the bottle back and taking another drink. 

“Is she awake?” Merrill asked, “I’d love to see her before I leave.” 

“ _I thought you were staying?_ ” Isabela whispered, eyes full of confusion, and Merrill blushed. 

“Well, all right,” Merrill said, “it _is_ raining.” 

“I think she’s taking a bath,” Varric lied again, this one slipping out seamlessly, “I just went to get drinks for when she got out. You know how she sleeps, though.” 

“Like a boulder?” Merrill grinned. 

“ _On _a boulder?” Isabela followed up, and Varric laughed.__

“Absolutely. Well, ladies, I’ll let you get back to your game. If you want drinks, Hawke’s buying,” Varric said, pushing himself back from the table. He pushed his door open with his hip, 

Hawke waiting at the table with two plates of dinner that seemed to appear out of nowhere. He didn’t question it, only sat down, passing her a bottle. 

“What took you so long?” Hawke asked, not angry, just curious. 

“Ran into Isabela and Merrill,” he said, popping the cork off of both bottles again when she held the neck out towards him. Hawke raised it to her lips, and paused, trying to read Varric’s evasive expression. 

“What did they want?” She asked, and he shrugged, setting his drink down. 

“Just wanted to catch up. Said they missed you, you know, the usual shit,” he said, still thinking hard on the things he’d just heard. Was Hawke avoiding the others, or was she just tired? Why wasn’t she telling Merrill the truth about where she was? 

Hawke sat, blissfully unaware, blissful eyes as she took long swigs from her bottle and ate her food. They listened to the rain, again sitting in silence as they ate, just as they’d sat the night before. 

“You should be going home, Hawke,” Varric said, breaking the silence, “or at least seeing the other’s more.” 

“I don’t wanna,” Hawke said, “I don’t have the energy.” 

“But you have the energy to see me?” 

“It’s different,” she said, avoiding a direct response, “you’re my best friend-it’s easier.” 

“I see…” Varric trailed off, it was his turn to try to read Hawke’s expression, but all he could see was her tired face after weeks of hard work. 

“I understand you don’t have the energy, but why stay at the Hanged Man of all places, in a cramped bedroom with me?” 

“I like you,” Hawke shrugged, “my days always end down here, and by the time I’m done I’m falling asleep as I walk through the door. I’d never make it back to Hightown, I’d fall asleep on a pile of rocks near the stairs.” 

“Still, you’ve got some time off ahead, shouldn’t you consider spending some time with your family?” 

“ _Varric_ ,” Hawke said, voice firm, “I make plenty of time for my family, and frankly I’m offended you haven’t realized I consider you just as much of a family member as my mother and Gamlen.” 

“Ah- oh, shit,” Varric said, nose and cheeks going pink as he realized what he’d just said to her. Hawke knew better than anyone how precious time was with family. 

“I’m sorry, Hawke.” 

“Don’t be,” she said, tender softness returning, “I just want to make sure you know that nothing is wrong, and I’m not avoiding anyone, I just really like spending time with you. We haven’t been able to get out there together for, what, a whole month? It feels like it at least. I miss having you along, so I come here to see you after we’re done working. It only makes sense, hmm?” Hawke reached out and took the hand closest to hers, squeezing their fingers together for only a moment before letting go. 

“Right,” Varric said, “but don’t get all sappy on me. You miss me, though, how cute.” 

Hawke crossed her arms, sitting back and rolling her eyes at Varric’s tawdry grin, but she couldn’t keep her own lips from curling up as Varric waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Yes, I miss you, and yes, I _am_ cute!” Hawke snorted, and Varric let out a satisfied chuckle, drumming his hands on the table for a second before leaning his shoulders into the back of his chair. 

“That’s my girl,” he said happily, and the two sighed as the moment faded. Hawke took their empty plates, quietly humming as she brought them to the counter, placing them in the small basin to get washed later. Varric came up behind her, placing his hand on the small of her back, and they stood there like that for a long, long time. Linked together by Varric’s palm, the two silently, steadily inhabited each other’s personal spaces, much too close for anyone else’s comfort. They didn’t even look at each other, they didn’t need to, standing side by side while thunder clapped overhead, shaking the floors they stood on, but it was barely noticeable. The cool silk on Varric’s fingertips, the heat leeching through to Hawke’s back, it was nothing, it was everything, a sensory overload contained in a microscopic moment that exhausted both of them to the point where neither of them could speak. 

Varric had many things he wanted to say. 

Hawke had even more. 

But those words never came, never leaked from nervous throats in the privacy of Varric’s rooms, or Hawke’s library, or even a mine shaft that was long since forgotten by everyone but them. So many words left unspoken, too tired to attempt a discussion that chilled them to the very bone. They both had one question in common, a single question hinging on a single word that they used daily to describe themselves. 

What did they mean when they said _partners_ now? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A LONG ONE:
> 
> i'm sorry for the small gaps in updates!! work has been overwhelming lately and I haven't had as much free time to write. I'm still trying to upload weekly on the weekends, but please be patient with me if I have to switch to every other week. I try to provide (semi) high quality chapters that are sizable enough to justify the time it takes me to write them. (i still DONt have a beta reader so i do it myself and i tend to miss stuff really easily bc im a dumbass) 
> 
> I usually write these chapters in the span of 1-2 days (well, 1-2 sittings. Maybe 3 hours total including editing time??) so I'm trying to pack as much... filler story in as possible. Like i've said before, I don't want this fic to focus on the actual storyline we see in the game, but the days/weeks/months/years in between. I think it's more realistic, and concise, to string together larger plot points we saw with events that lead up to it. You know Hawke and Varric weren't just sitting on their asses after the Deep Roads, and I want to show what my personal Hawke's storyline is through her time in Kirkwall, so if this Hawke doesn't align with yours, just remember this is from my Hawke's perspective as I see it. 
> 
> Also, even though this fic is only like 1/10th of the way posted, I do have to admit this was actually a side story to a much longer, much more adventurous Inquisition fic that I started back in January, so there will be a sequel, and there will be a LOT of it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments, they really really make my day brighter, and I appreciate every single one of them. Nothing boosts my spirits more to see kudos and comments on this fic since I haven't been really invested in fic writing for many years (not since my ol' Homestuck days) and getting the feedback really makes it feel like a worthy investment of my time. I'm always afraid I'm not performing or entertaining to the best of my ability, so whenever someone affirms that like, "hey, i enjoyed it"... it makes it feel like I'm doing... at least something right. 
> 
> Thanks again, all of you. 
> 
> -Leo


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mom time.

It was focused, concise time between the two after that. Something had changed. It was tangible in the air. The two private nights they spent together had tainted their minds with a cloudy essence that overtook them every time they parted ways. 

Hawke returned to her estate, reluctantly leaving behind the hum of the tavern for the cool, silent stone. She stood in her kitchen, bottle of wine in hand, no glass in the other, staring out the window into Hightown. Left hand cupping her right elbow, the wine bottle rested on her chest near her left armpit, she leaned against the counter behind her. Rain smeared itself down the window glass. It was late, all was quiet, not even the muffled booms in the sky from the distant storm made much of an impact. The fire in the stove burnt low, and the candles Hawke had lit barely illuminated her surroundings. 

She heard the door creak open, and she glanced over her shoulder, her mother peering in. Hawke brought the bottle to her lips, wordlessly taking a few large gulps as she maintained eye contact with her mother. Leandra stepped in, closing the kitchen door behind her, and leaned against the counter next to her daughter. The bottle of red wine was offered to Leandra, and she glanced at her daughter’s hardened face, solemnly staring out the window with little expression to read. 

Leandra accepted the bottle. She took a large drink, and handed it back. 

“Are you feeling all right, darling?” Leandra asked, and she saw Hawke’s eyes momentarily widen, slipping to the left to see her face. Hawke wasn’t expecting to hear that name from anyone but Varric. Not in this context, at least. Leandra had always preferred to call her siblings by sweet names, not her.

“I’m a bit aggravated,” Hawke admitted, “I’ve run out of leads for the case I’m working on, the serial killer one. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of someone like that lurking in town.”

“Weren’t you… a…”

“I was mainly a smuggler,” Hawke corrected gently, “I did mercenary work on the side. I guess with how many bodies I’ve delivered to Aveline you could call me one too.” 

“No-Never!” Leandra stuttered, and Hawke took the bottle to her mouth again.

“It’s okay, mother. There’s truths in this world we should face, regardless of how they make you feel.” 

Leandra could only watch her daughter, wondering just when, or how, the innocent young girl had become a wise young woman. 

“It seems like just yesterday you got your tooth knocked out detassling corn,” Leandra chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, “who was it then? The Dells’ boy?”

“Actually the Baxton’s. I’ll remind you who won that fight,” Hawke smiled, leaning back on her elbows, toasting the half empty bottle to the air in front of her. 

“I never thought I’d see the day you blossomed into such a beautiful flower,” Leandra sighed, and Hawke blinked at her. Leandra loved flowers. She always had. Malcom had taught Hawke everything she knew about flowers, which he had only learned to make sure her mother always had the most beautiful garden they could afford. 

“How could you not, with your green thumb?” Hawke said back, straightened up a bit, lifting her left arm. Her mother moved in, and Hawke let the heavy weight of her arm wrap securely around her. 

“I love you,” Leandra said, barely a whisper.

“I love you, too, mother,” Hawke returned. They passed the wine back and forth, swallowing heavy gulps to alieve the silence that echoed through the halls. They both missed Bethany, and Carver, and Malcom. They missed Lothering. They missed the way the sun used to shine on their days, but they mostly missed the security of family. 

“Do you love Fenris?” Leandra asked, her cheek resting heavily on Hawke’s shoulders, and she felt Hawke stiffen beneath her. 

“Why do you ask?” Hawke asked. Her mother was less than sober, but she was still managing to form sentences. 

“I’m just curious. I want to stay informed on my daughter’s suitors. I see Varric enough alre-“ Hawke interrupted her, jolting back and forcing Leandra’s head to look up at her exasperated face.

“V-Varric?” She sputtered, “he-we-I!” Hawke took a second to regain her composure, cheeks flushed dark, she chugged the rest of the wine bottle and set the glass down.

“Varric and I,” she huffed, slightly out of breath, “are not… courting each other.” 

Leandra stood, head still leaning slightly on Hawke’s arm, and she snorted, trying to conceal her laughter.

“You two could have fooled me,” she said, “the way you two talk to each other reminds me of Malcom. He was magic with words, forgive my joke. He talked me into Fereldan, after all.” 

Hawke’s face burnt, physically hot from the blood rushing to the surface, she bit her bottom lip. She didn’t know how to answer her mother, both slightly bleary from the booze, Hawke doubly so from the two bottles she finished prior to her mother’s arrival. 

How could she tell her mother that she wanted her to be right. How could she tell herself she wanted that statement to be correct. Factual. Evidence to something that could be, or would be real. She was missing a lot of evidence, lately. 

Hawke looked down at her hands, mother going silent on her side. 

“I do love Fenris,” Hawke sighed, but she didn’t know how much anymore. The two of them felt different after the Fade, they couldn’t make the time for each other. Things were chaotic, but neither of them could budge to meet each other’s strife. 

“Do you love Varric?”

“He’s my _partner_ , mother,” Hawke scolded, mocking a stern expression that earned her a small laugh from Leandra. Leandra sighed, nestling her head back onto Hawke’s healthy shoulder, quietly smoothing the deep red silk of her shirt. 

“Your father would be so proud,” she whispered, and she heard Hawke gulp, not from drink, but from the way the words hit her ears. 

“A-are you…” Hawke trailed off, and Leandra squeezed her muscular arm.

“I could not be more proud of you, my beautiful girl,” she confirmed quietly, and Hawke felt her nose wrinkle, biting the inside of her cheek as her hot face grew even hotter. Hawke bowed her head, hair falling around her face, and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, choking back a sob that was years overdue. 

Leandra Amell could only turn her body, carefully gathering her daughter into her arms like she were just the small girl back in Lothering who had gotten her tooth knocked out over a corn plant. Hawke would always be her baby, as she grew older, as she grew smarter, and stronger, she would never stop being Leandra’s child. Sometimes children needed to cry to their parents. Leandra hadn’t seen Hawke cry in many years, and wondered just how much her heart was hurting behind the armor, and the status. 

Hawke clung desperately to the moment with her mother, relishing the connection like she’d been lost at sea for many years and just now returned home. Her heart pounded between her ears as the tide of memories long pushed aside came rushing back in. Behind her eyes was a pressure, her face damp as she carefully let herself slide to her knees. Her mother followed her down, shushing and holding her like she was just a small baby. She’d been so strong for her family for so long, ever since her father passed, that this moment of weakness felt like blasphemy. 

“I love you, my darling,” Leandra hummed, pulling Hawke’s head close to her chest, “you’ve always made me proud. You’ve always done your best. I could not ask for a better daughter.” T

he verbal reassurance made it sting that much more as Hawke realized she and her mother were the only two that were left in the big estate. Her brother never saw Kirkwall, her sister never saw the estate, her father had never made it to the Blight. 

Leandra couldn’t help but start to grow weepy, too. The sight of Hawke, half drunk, crying on her kitchen floor, was enough to bring her to tears. How long had Hawke silently pined for the affirmation that she, herself, was enough? How long had Leandra simply overlooked the early nights, the missing days, the cuts, and scrapes, and bruises that mangled her own baby so roughly. 

Leandra helped Hawke to her feet, and the two embraced, slivering in the cold, before they blew out the candles and ducked their heads, walking with protective arms around each other to their respective bedrooms, and kissing cheeks goodnight. 

Hawke stared out the window in her bedroom, after dropping her mother off at her room, still watching the rain fall, and she looked down at her hands. They’d committed so many atrocities, Hawke could no longer count them with ease, but for some reason there were still those willing to hold them. 

Varric was awake across town, sitting at his desk, empty pages all around him. He stared at his own hands, stained blue on the thumbs where he’d spilled ink, and he sighed, running both of his palms over his unshaven face as he groaned. He got up, restlessly moving to his window, watching the rain pour outside. He didn’t know how long this downpour would last, but it made him feel uneasy to be weathering the storm alone. 

He ground his teeth together, unable to slow his brain down, but also unable to kick start it into motion. He rubbed his thumbs and fingers together in small circles, feeling how rough they’d become over years of work with Hawke. He’d never expected the callouses to grow so thick, but he also didn’t expect Hawke to latch onto him like she had. 

Not that he was complaining, though. 

The thought of her, absent from his place of dwelling, made him grit his teeth harder. He’d walked her home earlier that afternoon when the storm broke for just long enough. She’d kissed the top of his head goodbye, and vanished behind that wooden door that felt more like a sealed wall he couldn’t break through. He’d watched her fingers nearly get caught in the seam, pulling back at the last second. 

He wanted to knock on the door, tell her she forgot something, and when she asked what, simply walk in and claim that she forgot him outside. He hadn’t though, he’d just watched her go, feeling the cold chill on his shoulders where her arm had been not much before. The walk back to the Hanged Man had been a lonely one. 

He left his office, standing in his bedroom and looking at the furnishings, wishing he were tired enough to sleep. He wasn’t. He never was when he wanted to be. He changed out of his clothes, finally, after nearly all day in them, and sat on his bed. He rubbed his eyes again, and his left hand, still on the bed, touched something other than his blankets. Recoiling and opening his eyes, he stared down at the dressing gown Hawke had tossed aside that morning when she changed clothes. 

He picked it up, careful not to rumple the delicate fabric, and he rubbed his thumbs over the smooth surface. The slip seemed so tiny in his grip, and he tried to imagine just how Hawke managed to fit herself into it so easily. 

Varric’s heart thumped in his ears at the thought and he shook his head, physically trying to banish the very idea from his mind.

“That’s no way to think. She’s not a piece of meat, you asshole,” he muttered out loud to himself. He sighed, leaning back in his arms, left hand still holding the balled up silk. He closed his eyes, and sat like that for a while, trying to turn the wheels to new stories, rather than how much he wished Hawke was asleep behind him. Selfish, it was, just longing for the presence of her. 

“I live in one of the busiest places in Kirkwall but I’m still lonely. Pathetic.” 

He sat up again, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands draped between his legs, head bowed low. He spread the fabric of Hawke’s dressing gown through his fingers again, noticing the worn stitching, yellowing lace, and slipping hem at the bottom. She really loved this nightgown, and he couldn’t fathom why she continued to leave it with him.

Varric looked over his shoulder, seeing the place Hawke had been resting only the night before, eyes closed and hair sticking up everywhere. He couldn’t picture her in the nightgown, just her usual armor or clothing, and the very mental image made him smile to himself.

_“No armor on the bed!” He scolded Hawke nearly every week, the warrior moaning and groaning as she struggled to undo all the buckles holding her grieves and gauntlets together. Lately, he’d been running her baths every time she came to visit. It was the easiest way to ensure comfort all around. The armor would come off, Hawke would get a chance to clean up and relax her sore muscles, and Varric could prepare for the night ahead of them._

He hung his head again, so tired and aware of the emptiness of his room. He brought the ball of silk up close to his face, inhaling the faint scent of Hyacinth and Hawke, trying to commit it to memory. Strong soap, the sweet flowers, the faint smell of grass and wet stone.

Varric’s eyes shot open, realizing exactly what he was doing, and he dropped the nightwear, disgusted with himself. What had changed? So suddenly, or over the course of years together? What had changed in Varric’s mind that instead of Hawke’s laugh he heard the chorus of Andraste? Instead of her smile he was blinded by the sun? Instead of her casual friendship, he wanted, no, needed her companionship? Instead of a friend, he saw a wish?

What happened to no humans?

He put both of his hands over his face, letting out a frustrated, muffled scream into the heels of his palms. How could he write when all the flowers in Orlais were weeds in comparison to Hawke, and all the stories he thought of wilted in the brilliance of her life? Varric had complained to Norah for years that he could never find another muse, that he didn’t have one. Nobody in this shit town could possibly inspire him anymore.

How did he walk up to one so easily in that market square all those years ago? How was he so blind to exactly what she was to him for all this time?

Nearly perfection.

“Your mother is smarter than you give her credit for, Varric,” he mumbled again, dropping his hands as he dwelled on the memory of her letters.

_“My partner, Hawke,”_ he’d said in a brief message home about Bartrand. His mother had sent a novel of her own design, mostly furious, confused ramblings, but maybe she wasn’t so confused after all.

_“You fell in love with a human?”_ She’d asked, he hadn’t responded. He stared at the ceiling of the room he knew too well.

“Well, shit,” he said, “I guess I have.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Not out loud. Not yet. 

Convincing himself that maybe, just maybe, Hawke wasn’t the most important figure in his life at the current time was going to be the most daunting task since the Deep Roads for him, but for the sake of professionalism he was going to try. Varric put his hands back over his face, huffing loudly, groaning in frustration. He felt like a lovesick child, and as a rational adult, it made him furious at himself. 

When Hawke woke up the next morning, it wasn’t of her own choice, but of the soft knocking coming at her door. She rolled over, sitting up, rubbing her eyes and yawning as her mother wished her good morning. 

“You have a gift,” Leandra said, and Hawke, confused in her current state, questioned if it was her birthday already, with her eyes still closed. Leandra laughed, and Hawke slowly blinked her bleary eyes open, seeing her mother holding a bouquet the size of her torso.

“W-who sent it?” She asked as her mother approached, placing the huge bundle on the foot of her bed. 

“Varric,” she giggled, humming as she got lost in thought, “he sent me one too. Awful thoughtful, he knew all my favorites. I wonder who told him?”

Hawke blushed for many reasons, pulling the bouquet closer, finding a small, sealed card tucked behind the petals of a group of peonies. Using her thumb nail, she popped the wax seal, unfolding the thick paper to reveal his scrawling handwriting.

_“Missed You- V.T.”_

She furrowed her brow a little bit, and looked back up to her mom. She was gazing at the fire, still pondering the gifts from her daughter’s friend. 

“He has his sources,” Hawke said, answering her mother’s question. She smiled, and nodded, leaving the room, closing the door behind her. 

_“Varric?”_ Hawke whispered, _“what are you doing?”_

He didn’t know, himself, having sent out the order as soon as the shops opened, trying to worm his way around the squirrely vendors that pestered him too much about the Hawke residents and himself. 

Hawke looked into the bouquet, smiling at the flowers, and rereading the card over and over again. She got up, nestling the stems into her elbow like she was holding a baby, taking everything the short distance to her library, still in her pajamas. She set the bouquet into a thick vase she had kept only for decoration until this point, and sat down at her desk, pulling her leather bound journal from the drawer. 

Brushing a small amount of paste onto a page, she stuck the card down firmly, scribbling a single memo underneath for the start of her daily entry.

_“Varric sent me a bouquet. I love you, too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andromeda came out and im ass deep in alien romance simulator 2017 i cannot even look up plot shit rn. thanks for dealing w these weird experimental art chapters while i kiss vetra. If you want to follow my art blog, I sometimes post dragon age shitposts. It's www.Hawkevarric.tumblr.com. Thanks!! I'll also take any dumb dragon age requests lmaO.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for..................... gettin g back to the 'plot' now w 99% less italics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has been written since before i even started uploading this fic so i'm glad we're getting into that shit. we are ALL playing andromeda..... i'm over 60 hours in

A few months of scouring and scrubbing the city, Hawke managed to turn up a whole slew of information on the Quinari and Templars. She'd gone and found a Mage who was tracking the same killer she was, and after the success of it all, she and Varric went out for drinks as a celebration.

"It feels like we just got cozy with the Arishok all over again," Varric sighed as Hawke ordered a second round of drinks. They'd tracked Javaris, and stopped the poison gas in Lowtown only days prior. 

"I hold no ill will toward them," Hawke shrugged, "I guess I'm one of the only people in Kirkwall that sees them as just... Other people." 

"It's because you're a good person, Hawke. Even I have my doubts about them, but you seem to hold no grudges with any race." Varric seemed impressed. Hawke was admittedly not racist, or hateful of mages, and willing to give anyone a second chance. Varric liked to say it was her small-town charm, but he knew it was more than that. Hawke truly wanted to believe in people, and their kindness. He was afraid Kirkwall was going to rob her of that, though.

"Anyway... You and Fenris are getting pretty close, huh?" Hawke choked on her beer, going red in the face. She wiped her mouth and took a deep breath before shooting Varric a brilliant smile. She didn't want to mention how he'd left her. He didn’t want to mention how strained he was seeing the two together.

"Are you jealous, Varric? I never thought I was your type, honestly I'm flattered," Hawke teased, and it was Varric's turn to blush. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, Hawke. You're absolutely beautiful, but I'm spoken for," Varric said, lying through his teeth. 

"Oh, Miss Bianca," Hawke sighed, letting her hand drop to run a finger over the crossbow, "I'll never be able to compete with you, will I?" 

Varric felt his hands clench the sides of his tankard, watching as Hawke cooed the name of a woman from his past. He didn’t want her to say her name like that, he didn’t want Hawke exposed to someone he was desperately trying to forget. Hawke didn’t deserve that. It was a secret he wanted to keep from her for as long as he possibly could, if not forever. At this point, he didn’t know if it would be Bianca’s name, or Hawke’s he whispered with his final breaths. He, for some unknown reason, hoped it was the latter.

“You look sick; did Corff piss in your beer?” Hawke asked, covering her worry with a joke. Varric blinked, shaking his head and grinning.

“No, but who could tell the difference,” he chuckled. 

They changed the subject, going back to the talk of the Arishok. Things were getting uneasy, and Hawke could only guess the quinari's real feelings towards her. She thought, maybe, he respected her a little, but she wouldn't be surprised if he considered her little more than a rat. Half of Kirkwall already thought that; someone as important as the Arishok probably did too. She _was_ a Fereldan Rat. 

Varric could see the thoughts racing through Hawke's head. Both of them distracted, unable to hold a decent conversation. They'd done a lot over the past months. They'd killed a corrupt Templar, found an ancient Dalish artifact for Merrill, and even hunted down one of Fenris's old slavers. She could handle a lot of tasks at once, that much he knew. Often running herself ragged, completing four missions before the sun set on the Chantry tower, Varric would have to physically stop her from working all night and into the morning. 

It was the aftermath that was hard for her. She didn't think while she worked, especially when it was physical work, but she processed everything hours, days, even weeks after the initial encounter. She didn't have the luxury of a six month mourning period; she had a pile of letters waiting for her. She was climbing the social ranks, but Varric wondered how many of her newfound jobs were genuine, and how many people were just taking advantage of her giving nature. 

Varric had found himself longing for her companionship as he’d never done before. It was an intense desire, the nights she bid him farewell, closing her estate door on him to rest in her own home. He wanted to push it back open, enter her library where he knew he’d find her asleep on the latest book he’d given her. 

Hawke had found similar troubles, tossing restlessly in her bed, too empty and too quiet to bring her any comfort. She missed the dull thuds of the run down bar in Lowtown, the way the beams creaked as the wind ripped through Lowtown off the docks in the morning, the way Varric would let out a few loose snores, waking her momentarily before she could snuggle back into his side. The safety she felt by his side, like he could never think of leaving her behind.

"Is it more than you're used to?" Varric asked, unsure if he was addressing himself or his partner, and Hawke looked up, pulled from her trance. 

"Not necessarily... Just different," she said, "my duties in Lothering never went farther than hunting bears on the outskirts of town for a few silver. Now I'm being asked to meet with the viscount and guard captain nearly every day." 

"Well, that guard captain is one of your best friends," Varric said, "and you're here with me more nights of the week than I can count on one hand."

"Getting drinks with you is... Different," she said again, more cautiously, "you don't expect anything from me. At least you're not asking me to go to the Wounded Coast every ten minutes to do this or that." 

"I expect plenty from you," Varric countered, "like I expect you to buy us another round after this, and I’m expecting you to stay the night, and I'm expecting you to end up nearly strangling me while you're asleep." 

Hawke's face flushed. She knew she was prone to cuddling. She'd woken up many times, completely wrapped around Varric like he was a pillow. He'd never complained, only pushed the hair out of her eyes and wished her a soft good morning, but if he was vocalizing it, it must bother him. 

"I'll just go back to my estate the-" 

"Did I say something wrong?" Varric asked with a grin. Hawke’s protest interrupted, she sat with her mouth open for a few seconds before snapping it closed. Varric didn’t usually interrupt her, but it seemed to come more frequently when she mentioned leaving early.

"Well it's just the whole cuddling thing-" she said and Varric laughed loudly, slapping his hand on his knee. 

"You think I mind? Maker's ass, Hawke, if I cared I wouldn't sleep in the same bed as you at all. Do you really think I would have done it for years?" Varric whispered, trying not to embarrass her further since his laugh had briefly drawn attention their way. Hawke shrugged. Varric didn’t want to let her know just how much he loved the weight of her head on his shoulder when they slept.

"I don’t want to be rude," she said. 

"Hawke, you're probably the most charming and diplomatic person I know. If you were chewing me out for something, I know damn well that it's my fault," Varric chuckled, "c'mon, are you going to make me cry so we can have a sleepover?" 

"The tears might convince me," Hawke winked and Varric bumped her arm affectionately.

"Then everyone in the Free Marches will think you broke my heart," he said, "hardly good for romantic storytelling. What would my editor think?" 

Hawke and Varric toasted again, giggling just a little as they ordered a few more rounds. Varric was telling her about some Carta thugs he'd caught the other night, embellishing the numbers since Hawke had been asked to report in on the work the guards thought was done by the both of them. She still listened, cheek in hand, loving his stories. Her father had told her stories, but she preferred Varric's. 

Hawke had started keeping multiple changes of clothes, and dressing gowns at Varric's. It earned them endless teasing from Isabela, but Varric still insisted it was just for comfort. It was, in fact, getting a bit carried away, as Hawke opened the entire drawer devoted to her belongings. She smiled a little bit when she saw the small velvet pouch in the corner, and she picked it up, holding it by two fingers and waving it at Varric across the room.

“Are these roses?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at him, and Varric snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not my fault you’re stinky!” He called back, “its lavender and hyacinth. I know you like them.” 

“Oh how sweet,” Hawke cooed, walking over and draping her arms across Varric’s shoulders from behind.

“So I wanted your clothes to stay nice, so what?” Varric blushed, rolling his eyes, and Hawke kissed his cheek gently. 

“I meant it when I said it was sweet. You’re too nice to me, Varric,” she pressed her cheek against his flushed one, squeezing him tightly, and he grumbled something about her bath getting cold. Hawke sucked in a sharp breath, remembering he’d run her a bath a few minutes before, and it would, indeed, get cold.

When the door closed behind Hawke, he buried his face in his hands, shuddering as he let out a quiet groan. The past few months had been tiresome, constantly in each other’s company but trying so desperately to quell his feelings before they completely engulfed him. Hawke kissed his cheeks, ran her fingers through his hair, every touch electric on his skin. 

_“You’d think a dwarf would be resistant to that, with the whole stone thing,”_ he thought, _“but I’m a surface dwarf after all.”_

She acted this way with everyone, overly affectionate, kind, and physical. It was a wonder half of Kirkwall wasn’t in love with her.

_“But they are,_ ” Varric continued in his head, _“You read the bad love letters to the whole group at least once a week. You sort them. You know how many people love her._ ”

Hawke sat on Varric's bed, pulling a brush through her damp, post-bath hair. He came up and sat beside her, glancing at her back. 

"You know, you never told me how you got that scar," Varric said, and Hawke made a humming noise, setting down the brush. She’d promised it a long time ago, so she really had no excuse.

"A bedtime story?" Hawke asked, and Varric laughed, saying okay. They climbed into bed, and sat against the pillows while Hawke rubbed her nose, a habit she picked up from Varric. 

"I got this in Lothering. It's a big one, isn't it?" She asked with a smile, "it was an accident. Bethany and I were playing in a farmer's field. The farmer knew about Bethany, but his daughter was also an apostate so he kept it quiet. My father would let her sit in on Bethany's lessons in exchange for a discount on his produce. Bethany shot an ice ball a little off mark. We angered a wolf, a big nasty thing to little kids like us. I was just starting my proper warrior training; I had this big wooden sword. I told Bethany to go, that I would handle it. Well, I handled it, but not before I got a thorough mauling. That wolf bit a big chunk out of my back, and that was the first battle scar I ever got." 

"How old were you? How old was Bethany?" 

"I was maybe twelve or thirteen? Bethany was so young. Eight years old, if I remember correctly. Maker, I might have even been eleven," Hawke sighed. 

"Battling wolves with wooden swords to save her family. Hawke, the hero," Varric said, "I guess I have a new story to work on for tomorrow night." 

"Oh," Hawke said, a little taken back. 

"Is something wrong?" Varric asked again. He felt like the phrase was being used a lot lately. Hawke was never usually opposed to him sharing her old adventures. She chewed her lip for a second. 

"I've never told anyone that story," she said, "it's kind of... Personal, you know? My first fight. My sister. I'd rather keep it between us; at least until you write my biography." 

"I swear on the ancestors," Varric said, sliding to lie down, "now let's get some sleep, wolf killer." 

Hawke slid down, turning towards Varric and putting her arm around him. She closed her eyes, and Varric cracked one of his open, counting the seconds before she fell asleep. Less than ten, she could sleep on command. He envied her, but also wondered how useful that would really be. 

Varric woke up before Hawke, as usual, and found himself trapped in a mess of tangled limbs and stick up hair. He sighed, resigning himself to another two hours of being held in the softest bear trap in the world. He closed his eyes, listening to Hawke's steady breathing. Her head was planted firmly on his chest, as always, and it wasn't until he glanced down that he realized her ear was pressed flat to his torso. 

"Is she listening to my heartbeat?" He thought, closing his eyes and trying to listen to the thumping in his own ears. 

Hawke was, indeed, listening to his heartbeat. Subconsciously drifting to locate it in her sleep, the dull sound kept her locked in a deep slumber. She slept better with the sound, often calling her Mabari into her room late at night when she couldn't sleep. She was lucky enough to fall asleep on command, but it never felt restful unless she had some kind of noise. 

"Mmmmm." The noise came from Hawke's throat as she started to stir, and Varric braced himself for the inevitable. Hawke's limbs all simultaneously tensed, pulling Varric into a much more firm bear trap, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Then she let go, all at once, and the big yawn came. 

"Good morning," Varric said after a big breath. 

"Mhm," Hawke said drowsily, eyes still closed as she dislodged herself from her friend. She rolled over, taking the blanket, and all the warmth she'd been giving off, with her. 

"Hey, hey, Hawke," he muttered, drowsily pulling at the edge of the cover, "you can't leave me in the cold like this." 

She rolled back over, cracking an eye open, and wiggling back over. She put herself back into the position she'd woken up in, yawning again. 

"We have things to do today," Varric said. 

"Mm-mm," Hawke protested. She was so tired, but Varric was warm, and his bed was soft. She felt the dwarf sigh, and his hand wrapped around her back. A first in their shared sleeping, Varric decided to indulge Hawke in her snugly tendencies, trying not to make it seem like he was too eager to get out of bed.

"Are you tired?" He asked. 

"I haven't had a day off in weeks," she replied, barely audible as her words slurred together. 

"Okay," Varric said. That's all he said, because Hawke was asleep again before he could say anything else. He didn't mind, he was also tired from their missions. He, too, hadn't had a day off in weeks. He was the first one Hawke went to when she got new missions. He could always tell, watching her barrel down the steps of Lowtown towards the hanged man from one of the few Windows. She'd kick open the door, and slide in next to Varric before anyone could react. 

He loved it. She was always so enthusiastic, even if they saw each other every day, slept over at each other's houses; she was always excited to see him. Right after their first formal meeting, he had confessed to having tracked her loosely during her inaugural year of smuggling, killing, and Lowtown charms. She'd only been flattered, and winked, blowing him a kiss. That's when the play flirting had started. She’d only ever been excited to see him. 

Now Hawke was curled around him, asleep like a lost puppy he'd found in the rain. But wasn't that what she was? No, she was so much more than that, but still, the comparison fit. Best friends and they loved each other. Varric had taken more of a liking to Hawke than anyone else in his shitty city.

They dozed and lazed around all day, eventually Hawke's growling stomach called her from her slumber, and she got up, complaining. 

"I wish I didn't have to eat. I was so comfortable," she whined, and Varric let out a short laugh, stretching his arms to get rid of the faint tingle in his fingertips. 

"Well, what should we do for dinner?" 

"I haven't been home all day, but I told mother I would do the grocery shopping this afternoon. The shops are still open, would you like me to cook something for you?" She asked. 

Hawke had servants now, who did most of her cooking and cleaning, so the idea Hawke could even crack an egg was surprising. 

"You can cook?" He asked, and Hawke giggled, nodding as she got dressed. 

"Of course I can! I wasn't always waited on hand and foot, Varric," she said, "I'm quite skilled in the kitchen. My mother and I used to cook together for Bethany and Carver when they were babies." 

She didn't flinch at the mention of their names anymore, she was happier. He knew it still hung over her head like a rain cloud, but she was able to take shelter more often than not. Varric knew something was troubling her, though. Lately they'd been bringing Merrill with them instead of Fenris. 

"I want to give him space," Hawke shrugged as they looked at produce, "we just killed someone who was terrible to him, he deserves space."

"I guess you're right, Hawke, but still, aren't you worried?" 

She looked at the scribbled shopping list, studying it for a whole, silent minute before answering. 

"Not really," she said, frowning, "he can take care of himself, I think." She picked up some onions, dropping them in the wicker basket draped over her arm. Varric was suspicious, not even two weeks ago Hawke had been cooing at Fenris over a shared mug of ale, now she seemed totally indifferent. 

"Did something happen between you two?" He asked, "You’ve been drinking a lot again." He heard Hawke inhale sharply, before letting out a huge sigh. 

"He needs space," she offered, voice quiet, "we aren't seeing each other right now." 

Varric's eyebrows shot up. Over the past few years, Hawke and Fenris had gotten plenty cozy with each other. He couldn't imagine the Elf abandoning his and Hawke's relationship, but the two of them had their reason. He suddenly realized how he'd insinuated their coupling last night, and felt guilt knotting his stomach. Guilt from his claims and guilt from his relief. With Hawke not seeing Fenris, she had more time for him, but how disgusting the thought made him feel.

"I'm sorry," he said, "if you need a shoulder to cry on, I'd offer mine, but I hate seeing humans cry." 

"It's okay," Hawke said, knowing she didn’t feel like crying anyway, "it's not like I didn't know this could happen when we started. I was just hoping it could be different." 

Varric told Hawke he was going to go pick up something across the market. He found her favorite box of sweets, and a soft wine to go along with it. He had them packaged in thick paper, and he put them in his bag. He'd give them to her before he left tonight. He had to understand she was an adult, almost the same age as him, and the way she wanted to deal with stress was okay, as long as it didn't end up endangering her. Varric still cared though, and he wanted to make that clear.

When they regrouped, the chantry bell chimed six. Hawke looked a little better, toting large sacks of groceries. She walked a few steps ahead of him, and he noticed how short her strides had become. He used to trail behind during their casual walks, but she had changed the length of her steps to stay close to him. He could tell she hadn't done it on purpose, either. They’d spent so much time together the change was natural.

The walk to Hawke's estate was short, and comfortable despite the earlier tension. Hawke had a dreamy look on her face in the setting sunlight, she stared up at the orange and pink clouds, and the scent of the flowers growing on the ivy outside her estate washed over them. Hawke had told Varric multiple times what kind of flower they were, but he never remembered. She picked two, putting one behind her ear.

"What would you like me to make for dinner?" She asked, dragging Varric out of his own daydream. She reached down and Varric realized she was tucking the other flower behind his ear.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm not picky." 

"So you're just going to trust me, then?" Her fingertips dragged over the gold and gray stubble on his chin, a ghost of a touch that left hot streaks on his jaw.

"Make what you make best," he said, "I want to see your true potential." 

Hawke blushed as she giggled, the phrasing was so teasing, and she gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. He obliged, setting his gear down in her library before stepping into the one part of the Hawke estate he'd never seen. 

It was massive, well equipped, and spotless. There were hanging bundles of herbs, baskets of bread and root vegetables. Hawke hummed as she buzzed around the kitchen, putting away the new ingredients she bought, and tapping her chin as she tried to think of something to make. 

There was a Fereldan stew that she loved, and she peeked at Varric out of the corner of her eye. She thought he would like it. She hummed an old song her father used to sing her as she chopped onions and put them in a deep pot to fry off. 

Varric tried his hardest not to stare as Hawke bounced on the balls of her feet, white flower in her hair, a distant smile on her face. Despite her size, she was agile, and eventually Hawke caught him in the act. His cheek resting in his hand, he was staring hard with a toothpick in his mouth. She stopped, a bowl of stock in her hands, and smiled, causing him to turn his eyes back to the fire. 

His cheeks burned red, he couldn't fathom Hawke doing this sort of thing, but evidently she did. She enjoyed it, too. He watched out of the corner of his eye now, seeing her fingers as she chopped with large knives, the way she licked her thumb after tasting everything. He wanted to remember the way her lips moved when she pressed the pad of her finger to it, the color of her tongue as it tested her concoction, and the soft squeak she made when it was much too hot for her to have tasted in the first place. He wanted to remember the absent, attentive stare she had as if he weren’t even there. He felt like he was observing something secret, peeking in on a private moment like an intruder, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away even if he had to. Varric wanted to imprint Hawke onto his mind like the seals he placed on his letters. He wanted her to be permanent. 

Hawke’s cheeks were flushed from the heat of the hearth, and she came over to where Varric was sitting with two glasses of red wine. 

"Two hours, give or take," she said, smoothing her shirt as she sat down. He thanked her for the wine and hastily brought it to his lips, grateful for something strong and bitter to wash away whatever thirst was clouding his mind. 

"It's hot in here," Hawke complained, "shall we go to the library? I finished the book you recommended to me." Varric finally looked at her, brows raised. He'd told her about that book less than a week ago, and she was already finished? 

"You do get results, don't you?" He asked. Hawke giggled and they made their way to her library. She wasn't lying, the book was out, closed on her reading desk, and she set her wine down. Moving to replace it on her shelves, Varric made a small noise to get her attention. 

"I thought you hadn't had a day off in weeks?" He asked, already knowing what she was going to say. She blushed this time, shrugging, hand lingering on the spine. Her finger traced down the title. 

"I make time to read the books you recommend me," She explained, "they're always worthwhile." 

"I'm honored you feel that way," Varric said, taking his usual seat. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a few flowers hanging, dried from the bouquet he'd bought. A few stems sat, wilted in the case, and a stack of heavy books suggested the pressing of others. Hawke had tried to preserve the gift as much as she could, with her mother's help. 

"I love reading," Hawke confessed, bring his attention back to her, "ever since I was a little girl I loved it. We didn't have much money, but I was able to read at the chantry most of the time before Bethany. We moved around a lot because of my father, but we settled in Lothering after the twins were born." She approached the table with a few books, well-worn in their leather covers, and she slid one to Varric. 

"This is the first book I ever bought myself," she said, and Varric opened the cover to read the title. It was an adventure story, featuring a brave heroine on her quest to defend her home from evil. He was familiar with it. 

"Did you ever think you'd become someone like her?" He asked, and Hawke took a long sip of her wine. 

"No, truthfully. I always thought I was going to be hunting bears and protecting my family from Templars, never slaying demons in the dreams of a young boy," Hawke sighed, "I always thought I'd be dead before I became a hero." 

"Dead?" 

"Fighting the blight, or defending Bethany from the circle. Shit, I expected to get cut down in Lowtown before I owned an estate here," she muttered, "now I have a family crest." 

"It's a nice one, too." Varric said, "Now you get to be the hero, and I get to tell the story." 

"I wouldn't dream of it being told by anybody else," Hawke sighed, batting her eyelashes at Varric while swishing her wine in her glass. He chuckled, and they both felt a bizarre stillness wash over them. They always tried to fill the space between them with talk, but they were drowsy, and the silence was so welcome. It wasn't awkward, or forced, it just was. 

They sat quietly, enjoying the company of each other without words. Varric had never felt so content in prolonged silence before. Eventually, Hawke sniffed the air a few times, getting up to check the stew. Varric noted that she did that a lot, nose lifted slightly as she scented the air like her dog did. Sometimes he wondered if she had sharper senses than he did, or maybe she was just hungry.

She called for everyone to come to dinner, Oriana helping set the table as Hawke brought out the big pot of food, along with bread and a bowl of steamed rice. The young elven servant brought Hawke off to the side, muttering something nervously, which caused Hawke to laugh loudly and hug the girl. Varric raised an eyebrow but Hawke waved her hand, letting him know she would tell him later. For now, everyone at the Hawke estate took their seats at the table. 

After dinner, the two returned to the library.

"I can't believe you can cook like that," Varric said, resting his hand on his full stomach, "what did Oriana want?" 

"She asked me if I was firing her, or if she wasn't doing a good enough job," Hawke said, "I told her I just wanted to cook dinner tonight, was all." 

"Admirable. It was an incredible meal, my lady," he said sweetly. Hawke stuck out her tongue, scrunching up her nose. He laughed at her expression, rolling his eyes. 

"Thank you," she said finally, "today was really nice." 

"It was," Varric agreed, "I should be getting back to the hanged man." 

"Wait!" Hawke said, stammering her next line to cover the urgency she'd called out to him. 

"You can stay if you want. It's late, I don't want you getting into trouble," she said, "at least not without me." 

"Okay, Hawke," he smiled gently, going over to his bag and pulling out the wrapped gifts. She had a puzzled look on her face as he came over to her, handing her the paper. 

"These are for you, open them tomorrow night when I'm not around," he said. Hawke nodded, taking the gifts and placing them in her chest in the library. They grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and headed up to Hawke's bedroom to relax before going to sleep. 

They sat on Hawke's rug in front of the fire. Halfway through the bottle of wine, Hawke had let her head slip onto Varric's shoulder, and he wrapped a protective arm around her. They watched the fire crackle, and didn't need to say much. Another glass for each of them, Hawke's eyes were getting droopy. She nestled into Varric's shoulder a bit more, shivering as her bare arms got covered with goosebumps. Varric rubbed his hand over her bicep, feeling he bumps rise on her skin. Her room got very cold, very quickly, and she seemed to be pressing herself closer and closer to leech the heat from his body. 

They finished the bottle, and all the alcohol they'd had that day seemed to multiply with their growing sleepiness. Varric finally looked down to Hawke to ask if she was ready for bed, only to find her staring up at him. Eyes slightly glassy from drinking, he didn't know how long she'd been staring. His eyes glanced to her lips, and he recalled how she'd licked her thumbs earlier that evening. He felt the grazing of her fingers on his jaw again, and he had to stop himself from gulping. He didn't say anything; they just sat there, staring at each other. 

Who moved first, neither of them knew, but the Sparks that electrified them when their lips barely brushed each other's were mutual. It wasn't even a kiss, just barely a touch, but they both closed their eyes, Hawke's breath shaky as she anticipated more. Varric didn't move away, but he didn't move forward either. Hawke did, however, move. Ever so slightly, she tilted her chin up, pressing the softest kiss Varric had ever had on his mouth. 

She recoiled almost as quickly as she'd kissed him, realizing what she'd just done. She stood up, making him drop his arm around her back, and she turned her head away from him. He'd caught her hand before his arm could fall completely, and He could tell she was bright red. They still didn't say anything, just stood like that, hand in hand, Hawke staring at the wall. There was no time for him to kiss her back, there was no time for him to ask her to return.

Varric stood up after a full two minutes of tense silence, still holding her hand however little, and he moved toward the bed. After Hawke didn't move, he dropped her fingers. He didn't know what to make of what just happened. He blamed the booze, and the firelight, but he got into Hawke's bed anyway. She swallowed hard, heading toward her bed, and carefully getting in so she wasn't touching him. She lay with her back facing him, much like the first time they'd slept in the same bed. 

Varric didn't want to say anything and risk upsetting her, so he just rolled toward her, and said his good nights. Her wishes came back, however faint and he pulled the cover up to her shoulder. Her shoulders tensed nearly to her ears, and then she let out another long sigh. Varric listened closely, careful not to move too much, waiting for the telltale sign she'd fallen asleep. 

There was no way for him to tell her he wanted to kiss her too. The rift of silence was too much, and she felt like she might crack under the pressure if he uttered a single word to her. She wanted to apologize, she wanted to ask him if he was okay, she wanted to tell him she loved him, she wanted to kiss him again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating for 6 months i have depression

Varric was called away early the next morning. A note from his editor arriving on top of the bundle of Hawke’s normal mail, he looked squeamish as he read it, and bid Hawke a tired goodbye before leaving. It felt like he was rushing out, Hawke making direct eye contact with him but it wasn’t the same. She avoided his gaze, but not on purpose; she seemed like she was still asleep, just sitting up in her bed. 

“Goodbye,” she muttered as she heard her door close. Too late, just by a moment. She always felt like she was just a few moments too late for everything. 

They both knew there would be no time to see each other. They’d had talked for days just earlier in the week, trying to find time between Varric’s busy writing schedule, and Hawke’s consistent minor errands, to plan shopping trips and drinking nights. There were none. For weeks upcoming, the two would be entirely separated. 

What could she do now? She felt like she’d ruined everything. Varric looked sick to his stomach when he’d faced her this morning. Hawke leaned her face into her hands, letting out a short, frustrated scream, muffled and leaving her already dry throat even more sore. 

Hawke got up, cleaning herself and her room before heading down to the kitchen for the breakfast she knew Orana would have waiting. The little girl beamed up at Hawke when she entered the room. Hawke rested her hand gently on her head, ruffling her hair gently. 

“Good morning,” she greeted, “thank you for working so hard.”

“It’s my job!” Oriana said enthusiastically, and Hawke gestured to the seat across from her at the small table.

“Join me for breakfast. Varric had to leave early, I don’t want it going to waste,” she said, and Orana chewed her lip for a moment before Hawke raised her eyebrows. 

“It’s not an order, but I would like to have breakfast with someone. I’m not fond of eating alone,” Hawke said, trying to soothe her newest worker’s anxiety around her. She’d been jumpy ever since Hawke had brought her home, but for good reason. Being kept as a slave was nothing to bat an eyelash at. Orana had fallen into her job well, and Hawke wanted to make sure all her needs were met and more. 

Hawke wanted to make sure Orana knew she wasn’t a slave anymore, or even just a simple worker, but a member of her family, however small. 

“Are you busy today?” Orana asked in the middle of their meal. Hawke hummed a bit, thinking of all the new mail she had to sort, and then she denied her plans. 

“I’m not, actually. Why, is there something you need from me?” Hawke asked, and Orana blushed, shaking her head.

“I just wanted to know… It’s time to do the weekly shopping, I was wondering if there’s anything in particular we need to buy?”

“Why don’t I go with you?” Hawke grinned. Orana was used to Hawke tagging along, usually in the company of Varric, but something seemed different today. 

“I-I don’t mean to pry, it’s not my place to ask, but are you feeling all right?” She asked Hawke, who stiffened, quite noticeably, at the comment. Her smile seemed a bit forced, and she let out a large sigh before sitting back. 

“I’ve been under a lot of stress,” Hawke confessed, “Kirkwall is a busy place, and I’m having trouble keeping up these days. I keep getting hung up on cases with dead ends. I’d love to feel like I truly figured something out for once. I’m not the smartest person in the world.”

Hawke’s smile was gentler, as she rested her hand on her cheek, gazing across the table to Orana. 

“You play the lute beautifully. It’s a talent, you know,” she said, “don’t give it up, okay? As long as you stay with us, we’ll support you in whatever you choose. You work hard, Orana. I admire your willpower.”

“That’s very kind,” Orana said, blinking in surprise at Hawke. Of course Hawke was kind, she always knew that, but Hawke went above and beyond to make Orana comfortable. Orana often wondered if it was to fill a gap. She heard whispers, mentions of a lost sister, Bethany. Orana had never met her, and she never felt like she lived in the shadow of her, but she wondered sometimes if the kindness that was extended would still be the same if she were alive. 

“Do you like Varric?” Hawke asked, “He spends a lot of time here, I know. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with him being around. His personality can be a bit intimidating.”

“O-oh! Varric is- he’s fine, Serah. He’s very nice, I don’t mind your friends at all. This… is your home, after all.” 

“I-I” Hawke stuttered in response, “I’m sorry, Orana. I forget sometimes I… want you to feel welcome here. I know I took you in as a servant, I didn’t want you to end up somewhere else in Kirkwall, unsafe or… hurting. I want you to know that we, all of us, want you to feel safe. And loved. You lost your family, it’s an incredibly difficult thing to go through, I lost my own father. I want you to know that, if you’d like to be a part of it, we would love you to find a family with us.” 

Varric sat with his editor, bickering loosely over less important details of his books. His mind wasn’t there, they both knew it. His breath smelled of day-old booze, his duster was rumpled as if he’d just rolled out of bed and come to the meeting. His editor, knowing Varric, assumed he’d done just that. His hair was messy, the normal neat tie was full of stray locks that fell onto his and around his face. 

They ended the meeting early. Varric shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he walked home, retreating into his rooms without so much as a nod to Corff. The heavy door clicked shut, and the sound of his lock echoed through the empty bar like a bad omen. 

Days slid by. Varric never left his rooms, Hawke attended her business with Aveline and the Viscount. These were lonely times for the both of them. Times that Varric chose not to address. Times he decided he’d omit from the anthology of Hawke’s legacy. There shouldn’t be one without the other. He tried to reason with himself under that logic, but the reciprocation of this reasoning was unknown. 

Was he projecting? Yearning? Too lost in his own fantasy that he couldn’t see the truth anymore? Had that kiss meant anything to her?

Questions unwritten in letters exchanged. Signatures that felt too formal for each other. Hawke stayed up late in her home, drinking bottles of wine as if they were glasses, rereading letters and books that she’d memorized by now. She was lonely, Orana and her mother could tell. The way she ducked her head as she left the room, the way she shrugged off invitations from her friends. 

She was crawling into her home in Hightown later and later, covered in more dirt, more blood, more bruises than Leandra had ever seen. She had no idea what her daughter was doing, only that she was getting new orders and thank you notes daily. Hawke had no time between a rushed breakfast, and a midnight dinner, to do anything outside. 

Kirkwall wasn’t a small city, but there certainly wasn’t much keeping her and Varric apart besides their lives.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here comes the drama

Hawke avoided Varric the next few days. It was painfully obvious. She was busy at home, couldn't come out to drink, running solo errands for Aveline. Isabela ribbed him for upsetting her, trying to get the latest gossip as they usually did. 

"What are you writing this time?" She asked, peering over his shoulder. Varric had been doing nothing but wasting paper, scribbling nonsense on pages and pages, trying to make sense of what had happened between him and Hawke. 

"Trying to come up with a new story," he muttered, "I think I want to do something romantic." 

"Oh that _is_ different," Isabela said, leaning Her hip against his desk, "but what _did_ you do to make Hawke so jittery?" 

"I asked her about her love life, Ravini, that's all," Varric said, "I was insensitive to the topic." 

"Ahhhh, I see," she smirked, "it's true then? That Fenris and Hawke aren't seeing each other? They both told me." 

"I'm not going to say anything," Varric said. 

"That's a first!" Isabela laughed, "Is it doing you more harm than good?" 

"At this point, I think so. Shit…" Varric rubbed his forehead, sitting back in his chair. Isabela smiled sympathetically, offering to buy him a drink and help him brainstorm. He accepted, grateful that of all the places he could have found a friend, Isabela was one of them. 

Across Kirkwall, Aveline had locked the door to her office, telling the few guards lingering to go make themselves busy. Hawke was sitting at her desk, head down on the cool surface. 

"Now what's going so wrong that you've come to _me_ to help you?" Aveline asked kindly, sitting in her seat. She poured them both glasses of water, and took a drink of hers. 

"I kissed Varric," Hawke said numbly. Aveline spit out her water to the side, eyes going wide at the news. 

"Y-you kissed... You _kissed_ Varric? Why?" 

"I don't know!" Hawke said, "It just... Happened. Nothing else felt right. We had been drinking, or maybe it was something else but... Aveline." 

"Yes, Hawke?" 

"It didn't feel _wrong_ ," she said, "I don't know what to do. It was like I bit into one of Sandal's shock enchantments. He wasn't even angry! I didn’t even mean to it just… I just did it!" 

"Do you really think Varric would be angry at you for one little drunk kiss?" 

"I wasn't drunk," she murmured, "I was barely tipsy. You know how much I can drink." 

"So you kissed him sober, and now you're suffering?" Aveline asked, Hawke nodded, her head never having risen from the desk. 

"Have you tried following your own advice, then? You know, _talking to him_?" Hawke shook her head. 

"I should do that," she said, "but what if he hates me?" 

"Hates you?! Hawke, you're an idiot!" Aveline cried, "Even I've kissed you before! You never thought anything of that! Who haven't you kissed out of your merry band of misfits?" 

"Nobody," Hawke muttered, "I just... He's my best friend, Aveline. You are too, but I know you have Donnic and that little peck we shared wasn't going to _affect me_." 

"Hawke, if you think that this is going to ruin your friendship with Varric, you're a fool. Any relationship, platonic or otherwise, that can be ruined by talking about your feelings isn't a very strong one to start with," Aveline sighed, "I've seen Varric fight his way through mobs of Quinari just because he _thought_ you were injured, and I've seen you do the same. I can't understand why you've been so self-defeating lately. It's not like you." 

"Fenris left me," Hawke sniffed, "I told Isabela but it's because she got me too drunk to function and I started crying when she mentioned him." 

"Oh no," Aveline whispered, "you've been having such..." 

"Bad times," Hawke finished, "bad luck? Whatever it is, it's Bad." 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" 

Hawke finally pulled her head off the table, wiping her nose. She hadn't cried but she'd gotten close. Aveline knew everything that had happened to Hawke was still affecting her. As much as she was over Bethany's death, Aveline could see Hawke flinch every time someone brought up the Deep Roads. The names of her siblings no longer haunted her, but the places they died did. 

"He got me my favorite sweets," Hawke said, "and flowers… Varric did. He wrote me a big card about how he was sorry for always being so nosy and wanted to apologize and let me get over everything the way I wanted." 

"Hawke," Aveline said warily, "do you... Love Varric?" 

Hawke's face went pink at the accusation. Of course she loved Varric, as a friend. She made that clear, and Aveline furrowed her eyebrows. 

"I think it might be more than friendship." Hawke groaned, her head going back to the desk with an audible crack. Aveline was more worried for her desk; she'd knocked heads with Hawke before and nearly gotten a concussion. 

"I know you don't like to face your problems, nobody does," the redhead comforted, putting a hand on Hawke's back, "but when the problem involves someone you care about, and who cares about you, you have to do what you can to resolve it. Varric won't hate you, you won't hate him, I'm confident in that." 

"I trust you," Hawke said, "thank you, Ave." 

"That's guard captain to you," she teased, and Hawke stifled a giggle.

She'd sent a message to Varric that day, asking him to meet her at the docks near sundown. Varric was just happy to hear from her. Knowing that she wasn't doing anything dangerous, but still avoiding him, hurt. When he approached the docks, he saw that familiar, armored form slouching. She'd peeled off her boots and shin armor, and rolled up her pants to dip her feet in the harbor. 

"Hey, you," Varric said, coming and sitting next to her. His legs weren't long enough to worry about getting wet.

"Hey," she replied, "can we... Talk? About what happened the other week?" 

"You mean the kiss? Sure, I don't mind." 

"Are you angry?" 

"Maker, no! You've kissed everyone we know, I would be only surprised to find out you kissed the Arishok before me," Varric chuckled. Hawke felt relief wash over her, it was just like Aveline predicted. 

"So... Back to normal?" She asked. 

"Back to normal," Varric agreed, trying his hardest not to bite his own tongue off through the lie, "c'mon back to the hanged man, I'll buy you a pint and walk you home." 

That night, Varric furiously wrote the first chapters of his new book. A fresh inspiration had washed over him like a spring rain, and he's found himself unable to sleep. His fingers had tapped his mattress for hours until he finally pushed himself up, realizing exactly what it was. It was the same feeling he'd had when he started writing Hard in Hightown. 

Page after page he wrote, the candles on his desk burning low as the early morning hours ticked by like seconds to him. Finally, as dawn was breaking, he fell onto his bed, half of the first draft finished, he fell into a sleep that was neither restful or satisfying. 

He woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth, realizing he hadn't even rinsed his mouth before going to bed. He groaned, lying there, waiting to hear the chantry bell tell him how much he had overslept. When it didn't ring, he knew he had to face the day.

He got up, scratching his chest as he trudged to his kitchen. He froze in place when he found Hawke sitting at his table, writing in one of her leather folios. She glanced up at him, his hand frozen on his bare torso, and she just smiled. 

"Good afternoon," she said, "I came by to see if you wanted to go on a mission with me, but you were asleep." 

'That explains it,' Varric thought. He simply nodded. 

"I-uh, I'm gonna go get dressed," he muttered, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder. He walked back into his room, looking over his shoulder once he was out of sight. Normally she'd wait in the hanged man for him. 

_She said it was afternoon, though, maybe it's busy? She was working after all,_ he thought. He pulled on his clothes, and went into his bathroom to scrub some of his minty powder over his teeth. By the time he got back to the kitchen, there was a small plate of food waiting for him, and he stared at it. 

"Did you make this?" He asked. Hawke only nodded, still looking at her paperwork. 

"It's three," she said, "I figured you were up late working too. I made this before I left my place, figured you might like some too." 

He looked at the delicate slice of quiche in front of him. It was still warm, or maybe she had reheated it for him. He did notice the fire had been tended since he'd last done it before bed. He said thank you, and dug into the meal. 

"It's no problem. You'd always give me food when I stay over," she said. 

"Yeah, but you didn't stay over, and it was normally, what? Jam on bread?" He said after he swallowed, "damn, Hawke. This is fantastic." 

"Thank you," she giggled, and she made one last mark on the paper, blowing on it for a minute so the ink was dry before she flipped the folio closed. 

"So what's the mission?" Varric asked once he'd finished his food. 

"Are you... Ready to go back into the deep roads?" 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna i kno u a sad bitch this double update is 4 u bb

Varric and Hawke had had a lengthy discussion about the deep roads. Hawke didn't want to drag anyone else into the mess, only Varric. She was hired to go get a man's three sons, having been chewed out alone in Hightown earlier that morning. Varric had to ask her repeatedly if she was up for it, or if she wanted him to take it and do it for her. She told him, consistently, that she was ready, and that she wanted to do it. 

"I don't want anyone else to die down there," she said, and Varric gulped when he saw that old fire in her eyes. The fire he'd seen when he tailed her in her first year, when she'd accept and finish any mission that came her way. Hawke was vicious when she needed to be, horribly determined and willing to do anything to accomplish her goals. 

Hawke was the one person Varric would trust with his life, confidently, and completely. He was certain if he'd taken anyone else on the expedition, he would be rotting in that Thaig like all the darkspawn they'd killed. His stories had kept Morale high, but Hawke was the reason they survived. She’d cleaved through horde after horde of corrupted monsters down below without so much as a word at times.

"When do we leave?" He asked. 

"Tomorrow. I already told them," she said. 

"You knew I would come?" 

"You wouldn't let me go down there alone," she replied, "I had to order supplies, so you should get some rest, we might be down there for a few days." 

"I just woke up," Varric said with a low chuckle, "I'll have to oil Bianca before we go, though. Are you sure you don't want to take anyone else?" 

"The only other person I'd take Fenris, but we're not talking. I don't want anyone else to see it," she said. Varric knew what she meant. The Deep Roads weren't tangible to the others, and Hawke didn't want their pity or shock on the mission. She didn't want distractions. She and Varric knew the deep roads, they could get in and out efficiently. There were lives at stake here, and Hawke wanted nothing more than to save them. 

"What do you know about the brothers that went down there?" Varric asked later that evening. He sat, oiling Bianca. 

"Iwan sounds a lot like we'd expect. Nobody seemed to like him very much, but the other two sound solid," Hawke said. She was flipping through another book, one Varric had plucked from his shelves for her. Hawke was happy to be reading, after Varric had suggested she spend the night and they head out early in the morning. 

Varric was careful to keep his new manuscripts hidden. Hawke had been trying to get at his new chapters ever since he read her the first section all those weeks ago. She was distracted though, by the book, and it was Varric who had to retrieve the quiche from the hearth before it burnt. 

"Sorry," Hawke said absently, moving her hand up to accept the plate of food Varric had made for her. 

"It's okay," he said, "you're really into that book." 

"It's good," she said. It was a book about Dwarf culture. Nearly as thick as Varric's chest hair, to have anyone sit down and be that interested was a blessing from Andraste herself. Hawke wanted to know everything, and nothing at the same time. She wanted to read the entire, dense book, and learn everything she could about Varric's culture, and then just never use the knowledge for anything. 

Of course, that would never happen. Hawke was already forming a mental list of questions she wanted to ask him about topics she didn't understand. There was so much information that was sliding past her eyes, she used her fork to attempt to feed herself, but found it nearly impossible to line up the utensil with her mouth. 

"For Maker's sake, Hawke," Varric rolled his eyes, "put down the book for a _minute_ , would you?" 

Hawke blushed, sliding the attached piece of ribbon into her page before closing the heavy cover. Varric smiled at her from across the table, and Hawke raised her glass to him, and he returned the gesture. They gunsights the rest of the quiche, passing off on alcohol, knowing they'd need to be at their best the best morning. 

When they went to bed, Hawke still avoided getting too close to Varric. He knew she was still sore about what had happened, so he took the high road and extended the metaphorical olive branch. 

"Hawke," Varric whispered in the dark, knowing she wasn't asleep by the rise and fall of her chest. 

"Yes?" Hawke asked, just as softly. 

"I know you can't sleep without some kind of noise," he said, "don't be a stranger." 

Hawke rolled over, eyeing him in the dim light. She felt like she’d crossed a boundary, but the invitation made her feel less worried. He raised one arm up, and she scooted closer, placing her arm over his torso and her ear went to his chest. She closed her eyes, sighing happily, and then she was gone. Varric smiled in the sparse candlelight, closing his own eyes when he felt her go completely slack in slumber. 

Hawke rarely dreamt. It just wasn't something that happened often to her. Maybe it was how many blows to the head she'd sustained during training, but her nights were mostly darkness. 

The few dreams she did have were nightmares, faces of the dead haunting her, tormenting her. However, that night, Hawke did dream.

These were soft dreams. Sunlight filtering through the tall stalks of corn in Lothering. Small hands reaching for the rare box of sweets her mother was holding. The scent of fresh bread in the morning. The soft flowers outside her estate. The strong presence of her Mabari. The way Varric's voice settled in her chest when he told stories. 

Comfort. Things that made Hawke feel safe. 

Varric was awake just a little before Hawke, but in that time, she pulled herself closer to him, her arm gripping him then relaxing as she nestled her face against his chest. A happy sigh escaped her sleeping form. Varric had never seen her act like this before. Normally she was just still, completely limp and heavy, but her eyes shifted under her lids. 

Varric asked her if she'd slept well on their walk to the entrance to the deep roads. They were hauling heavy packs, probably more supplies than necessary for two people, but after their last trip, Hawke wanted to be safe. 

"I did," hawke hummed, "I actually had dreams." 

"I thought warriors didn't dream?" Varric asked, amused. 

"We usually don't," Hawke chuckled, "too many hilts to the head. It was nice, though." 

"What did you dream about?" He asked. 

"Oh, you know. Soft things," she sighed, "things that make me feel good." 

"Cute," Varric said, teasing her warmly. She nudged him with her elbow, and he pushed her back gently. They continued to laugh and playfully shove each other for a few minutes until Hawke almost tripped on a rock. She stumbled forward, pinwheeling hands, catching herself with her arms splayed wide, one leg farther than the other. She turned to look at Varric, both of them stunned, and Varric burst out laughing loudly. 

"You didn't see _anything_!" Hawke demanded as she stood up. 

"Cross my heart," Varric said once he'd calmed down, "I won't tell anyone... for now." 

"Varric!" Hawke whined, and he put his jeans on her arm as they walked. 

"Don't worry," he said sweetly, "I didn't see a thing." 

The deep roads entrance held a different tone than their trek through the mountains. Hawke's face hardened at the tunnel, and Varric could only watch as her pace seemed forced. It was like someone was behind her, pushing her back underground. Her torso leaned away but her legs kept going. She wasn't ready, he knew, but she was going to do it anyway. She couldn’t say she was running away from her problems anymore.

They didn't talk. It was silent as Hawke navigated their way, somehow expertly. Hawke always did have a knack for remembering paths, but usually only a single one. If they got off track, Hawke could lead them for days in the wrong direction without batting an eyelash. Varric trusted her guiding, though, hands twitchy and ready to pull Bianca on anything that moved. It was hot, and damp, and stagnant down there, the rock shifted in unusual ways, none of it felt natural, even though it was. It pulsed, like a living thing. A heartbeat, a breathing. Primordial caverns carved by ghosts.

Hawke's breathing changed. Varric noticed it instantly. He had to, he always did, he was the only one who would even think to use that as a marker for her health. She wasn't injured, but the pace quickened, hitching up on the inhale, trembling ever so slightly at the exhale. Panic, or fear, or sorrow. He couldn’t tell.

"Hawke," he said quietly, "let’s take a break" She stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder. It wasn’t a question, or a suggestion, but a demand. She wanted to say no, she wanted to get out as soon as possible, but the rate at which her heart was beating said otherwise. She only nodded, and they tucked themselves into a small alcove. Varric put his arm over Hawke's shoulders protectively, and she shivered at his touch. 

"It's okay," she assured him, "it just feels... Bad." 

"I understand, I can't say I don't feel the same," Varric said, "but you have more reason to hate this place than I do." Hawke's head had fallen onto his shoulder, and she was quiet for a long time. 

"One day, you're going to write this all down," she whispered, "people everywhere in Thedas will get to know what happened to us in Kirkwall." 

"Are you okay with that?" Varric asked. 

"Yes, I am. We should keep going." 

Hawke seemed more grounded after that, level headed thoughts slipped out as Varric helped her track the brothers through the Thaig. They were lucky the brothers were heavy in their feet, and left obvious trails along their path. 

They found one, curled outside of a door, he pleaded with Hawke desperately. 

"Iwan locked him in there!" He cried, reaching for Hawke before he saw Varric shake his head ever so slightly, hand on Bianca. 

"Slow down, what happened?" 

"I'm Emrys," the dwarf said, before going on to explain that Iwan had locked their brother inside a Thaig. Hawke felt sick, and when she looked at Varric, his face was pale, and twisted with a myriad of emotions ranging from anger, to despair. 

"Another greedy dwarf. You think he took lessons from Bartrand?" Hawke asked.

“Maybe, but greed is hardly exclusive to dwarves."

They pulled back from the brother, having been posed with two options, and Hawke squeezed Varric’s shoulder’s with her hands, trying to keep him from bursting at the seams. 

“We can’t leave him in there. Fuck Iwan,” Varric hissed. It hit too close to home, and as angry as he was, he knew Hawke must be feeling just as terrible. 

Hawke wasn’t, though, she was numb, entirely, to the situation. This was Varric’s call. She’d already lost her sister. This place was already haunting her as they tracked the steps they had in the past. The only way she could even face the Deep Roads was by forcing herself out of her own brain, and relying on Varric to keep her steady. 

“So we leave Iwan?” Hawke asked, trying to get a confirmed statement for her dissociative form, and he agreed. 

The two burst through into the Thaig, quickly dispatching the darkspawn that threatened the third dwarf. 

Once Hawke had buried her axe in the last Emissary, Merin rushed up to offer his frantic thanks. Hawke could only listen and offer some short words before he rushed off to find his brother. Hawke stood, trembling ever so slightly, and Varric came to her side, watching as he left. 

“Let’s get out of here before the door closes,” Hawke said, “there may be a chance to save all three.”

Varric knew she knew better. They’d left Iwan to die when they chose to save Merin. Varric wondered if this had been both him and Hawke subconsciously attempting to punish Bartrand, or fix past events. 

Indeed, as they continued to scour the Deep Roads for the last brother, they found a mutilated corpse gripping an ancient rod. Hawke picked it up, furrowing her brows before handing it off to Varric for clarification. 

“Looks like a golem rod,” he said, turning it over in his gloved hands, “used to control them.”

“Interesting,” Hawke replied, taking the rod back when it was offered to her, “could be useful.” 

Hawke tucked it into her belt, and the two paused at Iwan’s body for a moment longer. 

“I was hoping…” Hawke trailed off.

“I know,” Varric said, carefully. He reached his hand up, grabbing her elbow and she looked down at him. His hand slid from her forearm down to her hand, and she didn’t reject the grasp. They stood there, staring at each other, then the body for a few seconds more. 

“This place is terrible, Varric… It takes, and it takes, and it takes…” 

“I want to tell you that’s just the way life is… but you’re right… Hawke, you’re strong for coming back here.” 

“I don’t feel it,” she muttered, and their hands dropped from each other’s mutually. They were already exhausted, but they still had a trek to get to the exit, then a good day’s hike back to Kirkwall. 

“Do you think we made the right choice?” Hawke asked as they walked through the empty tunnels. 

“Life is morally gray,” Varric countered, “whatever choice we made, it’s made. We can’t go back and change it, even if we wanted to.” 

“True,” Hawke sighed, The two came to a staircase, and headed up. Hawke kept her hand on her axe hand, and Varric had Bianca in hand. 

The rest of the time was a blur. A golem fight, an ogre fight, by the time they were done, Hawke felt numb to everything. Varric watched her eyes rolling lazily around in her head, plucking at the loot and gold from the bodies. The two ascended the final staircase, and broke into the sweet, fresh, night air. 

They walked for an additional hour before Varric noticed Hawke’s shoulders slumping, and he suggested they stop and make camp. She sank to her knees, and clutched her stomach and forehead. 

“Are you okay?” Varric asked, kneeling beside her, and she nodded. 

“I just feel a little sick,” she told him, “that was… a lot, Varric.” 

“I know, honey, I know,” Varric soothed. In truth, he couldn’t believe she held up that long. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and the two sat down in the dirt. 

“Hey, hey,” Varric said as Hawke pressed her palms flat to her eyes, “it’s okay if you need to cry.” 

Hawke tried not to cry in front of Varric. He hated it. She knew he did, but the vocalization made it a little easier. 

“I’m sorry I took you in there,” she said, voice breaking into her hands, “I’m sorry we did that.” 

It wasn’t for him, it wasn’t. He could hear her voice far off, like a dream, beckoning somewhere beyond their existence. Childlike, and begging. It was for Bethany. All of this had been for Bethany. The months she hadn’t been mentioned hadn’t meant she’d left Hawke’s mind. She’d carried Bethany’s body to the mouth of that accursed tunnel, hauling it for two days before they left. Two days had been the difference between Bethany alive, and dead. 

Hawke was sorry, she needed Bethany to know how sorry she was. 

Varric hated Bartrand more than anyone in Thedas now. Watching the ground under Hawke grow speckled with wet tears, shaking in her armor in the darkness. 

“I’m sorry Varric,” Hawke finally said, sniffing hard and removing her gauntlets. She wiped her runny nose and eyes, and she shuffled around before pushing to her feet. 

“We should get a fire going,” she suggested, “we’ll freeze to death if we don’t.” 

She strode off before Varric could say anything, knowing it was just her way to let the tension in the moment pass while she gathered firewood. He rummaged through his bag for a tinder stack, listening to Hawke crack branches over her knees. She’d come off every so often, dropping an armful of wood near him, and he would glance over his shoulder to watch where she was headed to. 

Hawke swung her battle axe a few times at a young tree, felling it for short logs. She finally finished chopping enough wood to last them this particularly chilly night, and she came back over to where Varric was blowing on a tender flame. 

“Thanks for getting it started,” Hawke said, swiftly tugging the leather straps that held on her thick armor. It fell to the ground with a hollow clank, and Varric cringed a bit. Hawke took spectacular care of her gear, and seeing her drop it into the dirt so carelessly wasn’t normal. 

She sat down, pose dejected, and she stared emptily into the fire. Varric frowned, and he reached over, grabbing her massive shoulder and shaking her a little. She perked up almost instantly, head turning to see him. 

She saw him, too. Not through him. Her eyes bore deep into his, deep and restless like the far off waters at the docks. The fire there was low, but it was still burning, and it was enough to send a chill down Varric’s spine. 

“Thank you,” she said, very firmly, “I know I say it a lot. But there’s really… so much to thank you for, Varric. I know you don’t want to hear it, I know you don’t like to acknowledge your own existence, and who you are. You lie a lot, maybe not to me, but to others. About you, about me, about all of us, but I know who you are. We’ve spent too much time together not to know. We’ve shared too much pain to not. We’ve spent every moment of the past years at each other’s beck and call. There are times… there’s times we don’t talk about it, we don’t talk about it enough. Varric I… You…” 

“Hawke,” Varric said, calling her to look at him. He stood up, stretching his arms in front of him with laced fingers, and Hawke started to open her mouth. 

“Hawke!” Varric said again, a little more forcefully, turning and grabbing both sides of her face with his hands. “Shut up.” 

He was warm when he kissed her, leaning his whole body into the weight behind it, holding her face sweetly, and her hands froze for a second. She reacched up, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her eyes fluttered shut in the moment. 

When they parted, Hawke breathed for just a second before leaning in and kissing him again. Goosebumps covered her arms, and her breath shuddered when they fell away from each other. 

“We don’t talk enough,” Varric agreed, “but we’d die for each other, huh?” 

“In a heartbeat, Varric.” 

“I’d kill for you,” Varric said earnestly, “I’d die for you…” He stroked her cheek, brushed a few stray pieces of hair away and planting a kiss on her forehead. 

“I’d fight an archdemon for you,” Hawke tried to counter, but Varric made a noise to hush her. 

“No need to be brave right now,” Varric whispered, “let’s just enjoy this… We’re alone… we’re safe, we’re together.” 

“Together…” Hawke repeated, “and it feels good.” 

“Better than when we’re apart,” Varric nodded, “so I think we should stay together.” 

Varric and Hawke ate their food, and fell asleep a tangle of arms and legs, more messy than they usually were. They’d forgotten to pack bedrolls, so they shared the blanket Hawke had packed. Hawke was holding his hands, clinging to his fingers and numbing the tips, but he didn’t dare mention it. 

There were some things that didn’t matter. He’d rather her break every bone in his hand than have her let go of them.


	13. Chapter 13

The walk back to Kirkwall took all the next day. Spent mostly in silence, Hawke weaving flowers and long grasses together into chains. She linked them into long loops, passing them to Varric, who continued to stack them on his wrists as she handed them to her. 

The big walls came into view as the sun just began to dip, and Hawke dragged Varric back to where he’d first been confronted by the angry father. And there they were. The family, minus Iwan, waiting for Hawke and Varric.

The conversation was short, Hawke told them the truth about Iwan, and what he’d tried to do. Then, both parties turned away from each other, and Varric put his hand on Hawke’s back as they walked away. The two wandered the streets aimlessly for a few minutes. 

Hawke didn’t want to go home, Varric didn’t want to go back to the hanged man. They ended up at the docks, throwing stones into the water. They made a game of tossing the floral rings into the water, and then trying to lob rocks through the center. Evening came, sending long dusk shadows dancing across the ships at port. They found a strange comfort in the way the water lapped the shore, sending fresh batches of pebbles to their feet. 

“I haven’t forgotten, either,” Varric said after the silence was too heavy for him to bear any longer. 

“Forgotten?” She asked. 

“About Bethany… or Bartrand… I’ll find him, Hawke,” Varric promised, and she chucked her rock harder than necessary into the abyssal sea. 

“I believe you,” she said, “let’s just hope that it’s for the best, and not another mistake.” 

Another rock, beaming through the air and piercing the surface of the water with a grand splash. 

“I don’t want to go home,” Hawke said, and Varric turned to look at her, arm arched up, and it faltered, falling to her side. She was an adult, fully grown with the confidence and responsibilities, but in this moment, something was different. 

She was small. Not physically, but her overwhelming presence was low, and barely simmering as the sun set completely. There wasn’t fear… but nerves. Nerves that festered in her long sighs, and the steady toss of stones. She didn’t want to see her mother, who had thought the two had spent the last few days at the Dalish camp helping them do… something. 

The Deep Roads had been too much, too sore of a spot had been rubbed on her heart, and Hawke knew the moment she laid eyes on her mother she’d fall to pieces like a broken bottle. She glanced at Varric, saw him staring, and their eyes locked. Her eyebrows furrowed, knitting close, and then relaxed as she puffed out another sigh. 

“I don’t want to go home either,” Varric comforted. Being around other people seemed hellish. Even the thought of Corff greeting him made him sick. The docks were nearly abandoned, and those that were there paid no attention to the two unique silhouettes on the sand by the water. Everybody knew better than to do that. At this point, seeing Varric without Hawke, or Hawke without Varric, was an idea to be laughed at, if not ridiculed. 

“Where do we go?” Hawke asked. There wasn’t anywhere quiet, or private, or free of prying eyes in the city. 

“Nowhere,” Varric said, “we stay here until we want to go somewhere else.” 

“Together?” 

“Together.” 

The two threw their final rocks, before sitting down on the beach. It wasn’t tropical, or luxurious. Gray sand, littered with broken nets and driftwood, rocks and shellfish shells. But it was enough. Anywhere was enough when they were together. The cave in at the Bone Pit had been enough, the clearing outside of the Deep Roads exit had been enough. Truly, certainly, anywhere was enough as long as they had each other. 

“Sometimes the past is more scary than the future,” Hawke said quietly, watching the sea turn dark black, roiling oil in the night. “Even though you know what happened, like reading a scary book you’ve read a dozen times before. But it still scares you.” 

“It’s true,” Varric said back, “the future is… a frightening prospect. You never know what’s going to happen there. The past haunts you, though. It’s part of your bones, like stalagmites or the rings on trees.” 

“You grow and you change,” Hawke finished, “but time leaves its marks on you.” 

“Remind me to call you if I ever need help with my books. You’ve got a knack for natural poetry, my dear,” Varric chuckled. The chuckle was dark, though, not out of humor. 

“We’ll write ours together,” Hawke nodded. Varric felt his cheeks going red. Until this point, Varric and Hawke had only discussed the biography in terms of her, exclusively. She’d changed that, now. 

_Ours_. Our story. Our tale of woe, and grief… 

And love. 

“We will,” Varric agreed. 

Hawke and Varric found each other’s hand, and continued to watch the water. The time ticked by slowly, but eventually the tide fixed the two sleepy figures off the beach and back into lowtown. 

“Hanged man?” Varric asked, and Hawke sighed. He felt the same way, but just offered the suggestion. 

“I suppose sleeping in the crates outside Merrill’s house is out of the question,” Hawke joked, “but I’d rather be at the Hanged Man tonight than the estate.” 

“Tomorrow, after you get some real breakfast, we’ll go together, okay?” He said, squeezing her hand. The city was still, and quiet. Not even petty thieves were out to bother them. It slept, the whole town, like a sentient being. Quiet. Offering them some moment of unusual sanctuary. 

Corff didn’t even hear them come in. They’d walked like shadows across the floor of the bar, up the short steps, and the heavy lock on Varric’s door was the only giveaway they were there. The bartender didn’t come to investigate, and Hawke pushed the door closed behind them, once again sealing them off from the world. 

“You kissed me,” Hawke finally said, and Varric raised his eyebrows, turning around and leaning against the wall. Hawke was resting against the door, both hands behind her, supporting her weight. 

“You kissed me back,” Varric said, feeling like a child in an argument over who pushed who during playtime. Passing the blame for something he would normally gladly own up to. 

“Maybe so,” Hawke said, smirking a bit, “but I’m glad you think we both need to talk to each other more.” 

“We tell each other everything already, but I guess we’ve both been holding onto a lot, huh?” Varric asked, rubbing his eyes. “Shit…” 

“I meant what I said,” Hawke said, “that I’d die for you.” 

“I know you did, Hawke. But… promise me you never will.” 

“Why promise?” She asked, and Varric took a quick step forward, mouth opening and closing a few times before he put a hand to his chin. 

“Because, Darling... I simply can't live without you.” 

Hawke blushed, covering her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. 

“ _Damn…_ ” she thought, “ _how am I ever going to top that. I can’t top that_.” 

“Then you’ll never have to,” she heard herself saying, but it was a phantom voice, “because a world without you is like a world without color.” 

Varric felt his own face heating up, and he clenched his fists. Their aimless flirting had never felt so heavy. So real. But this wasn’t aimless anymore. This wasn’t a casual exchange over a hand of cards or a pint of ale. This was closed doors, private. Sobering. They’d simply spent so much time in each other’s company, that Varric truly felt like a life without Hawke wasn’t worth living. He would do anything, and everything, to keep her safe, and by his side. 

As long as that’s where she wanted to stay. 

There was tension between them, but it was the kind of tension the two thrived off of. Just enough that if there was even the slightest tweak to either of them, they would know something was wrong. They were comfortable at the current point. They’d spoken their words, at least the ones that it was time for. 

There would be plenty of time for words later. 

Hawke and Varric settled themselves down with hot cups of tea, leaving the alcohol once again on the shelf, find they needed it less and less the more time they spent with each other, It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy the feeling, but they didn’t need that tension broken anymore. They’d fallen into step with each other, physically and emotionally. 

Varric Tethras knew that he was sitting near his best friend, possibly the best friend he’d ever have, and Hawke knew the same. The care in his touch, however causal. The warmth and pressure in his fingertips when he would place his hand on her back, or elbow, or shoulder. The gentleness in Hawke’s voice when she would notice bruises, or scrapes on Varric. The way she’d reach for his hand. The way he would reach for hers. 

The rope between them was just taut enough to be a tightrope. Easy to walk across, easy to meet each other in the middle. 

“Can I borrow the book?” Hawke asked, eyes shifting the the book she’d left on the table before they’d left. 

“Do you really want to finish that? It’s boring as all hell, Hawke,” Varric scoffed goodnaturedly. Hawke blushed and looked down at the cup she was cradling with both hands. 

“I think it’s interesting,” she admitted, “I want to know more… Maybe not about you in specific, but… there’s a lot I don’t know. Sometimes you’ll reference things I’ve got nothing on, and I don’t want to pry for answers that might not be mine to ask.” 

“So sweet,” Varric said, and Hawke looked back up, that sarcastic tone having pierced her, but she saw it was coming from a place of genuine care. His eyes were soft in the dim light, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

" _Dreamy…_ " Hawke thought, staring into those golden eyes. She could get lost in them if she wasn’t careful.

“Do you want to stay here forever?” Varric asked her, and she was drawn out of those eyes and back to the moment. 

“The Hanged Man?” she asked, and Varric shook his head. 

“Kirkwall.” 

“Oh…” Hawke said, furrowing her eyebrows, “I… Why do you ask?” 

“We could go away from here, someday… If you get restless.” Hawke felt her face burning, ducking her head down. She’d gone on many trips with Varric, but the idea of… leaving with him. Permanent. Not just a vacation, or how they practically lived together now. Escaping the chains and walls of Kirkwall, and vanishing into another country. New and anonymous. 

“If you’re trying to seduce me,” Hawke said, “you’re getting closer.” 

A joke to deflect her sudden embarrassment. But it wasn’t necessarily a joke, and that tightrope hadn’t budged, so Varric knew it too. They dropped it, falling back into silence and enjoying their drinks. Hawke asked quietly if they could take baths before bed. 

“I don’t feel good,” she said, “I feel…” 

“The stench of it on you? The Deep Roads?” Varric asked, and Hawke nodded. That little voice nagging at the back of her head had grown to a howling scream since she’d left, and she knew the only way to calm it would be to half drown it in a hot tub. 

Varric and Hawke sat on the edge of the deep tub Varric had in his washroom. That chatted about nothing, Hawke’s hand dipped in the large buckets heating on the coal pit next to the tub. 

“Thank you for having me over,” She said, “all the time.” 

“I don’t mind one bit,” Varric smiled, “I live in one of the busiest places in Kirkwall, but even I get lonely.” 

“I live in a big empty house,” Hawke replied, “and I get lonely a lot.” 

“Loneliness is part of nature, isn’t it?” Varric sighed, “across everything living… Everything sentient… Loneliness is there.” 

“I’m glad we found each other in all this chaos, huh?” Hawke smiled, “out of all the years we could have lived… I’m glad you and I are alive at the same time.” 

“I love you, Hawke.” Varric said, plainly. A statement. A fact. 

“I love you, Varric.” She returned. She removed her hand from the bucket as it started to steam. 

After cleaning themselves, and changing into sleepwear, the two curled up in Varric’s bed. The red sheets and blankets warm and safe. 

They were facing each other, hands held, almost nose to nose, whispering under their breaths like they were afraid of being caught awake. Tonight had such a unique feeling. Stillness. A feeling that hadn’t brushed Kirkwall since long before Hawke washed ashore with her family. It was…

Peaceful. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Hawke whispered, grinning like a giddy child. 

“I don’t either,” Varric said back, same smile growing wider. Hawke stole a kiss, and Varric laughed an airy sound that made her heart flutter. Somehow those nerves that had swallowed her whole the first some she kissed him had melted into nothingness.

“I don’t want it to end,” Varric said, pushing his head forward so their noses and foreheads were touching. 

“What?” Hawke asked, so close, back in those eyes. 

“Right now,” Varric said, “I don’t want to fall asleep, I don’t want to be needed tomorrow. I want to stay like this.” 

“Me too,” Hawke said. 

So the two stayed like that. Hot faced, close, touching. They fought sleep, popping heavy eyelids open as soon as they fell. But it was nature that won, they were exhausted, and the gentle hand of sleep washed over them like the tide rising on the shore. 

Sleep they did, as did all of Kirkwall. Someone might say the Maker had worked hard to make Kirkwall peaceful for even just one day, others might say there had been a snap in the atmosphere in the middle of the previous night, and suddenly nothing felt painful, or stressful, or constrained. 

Morning came, and morning brought with her less problems than usual. The city was groggy, needing time to once again awaken to its thunderous potential. 

Hawke and Varric felt no rush in their morning. They woke up surprisingly well rested. Comfortable. No aching muscles or stiff joints. 

“I could get used to this,” Varric teased, wrapping his arm around her back and drawing her close. He nestled his head into her shoulder and breathed in deeply. Hawke giggled, a bubble of bells in the calm air. Varric felt intoxicated by how blissful this was. How disgustingly domestic, and so unlike anything he’d ever envisioned for himself. A hand on his chest that was unlike his own, a companion in bed that didn’t seem to take up space, but add something significant to it. He looked forward to seeing her sleepy face, eyes droopy and smile lazy. He looked forward to breakfast with her, walking with her back to her home, working on their own personal work near each other. 

“Good morning,” Hawke said, and Varric could feel the words in her throat, he pressed a kiss to the hollow between her shoulder and neck, and Hawke sighed happily. 

“Good morning,” Varric said back, each word separated by another small kiss. For some reason it didn’t feel wrong, like they’d just been waiting for the last seal to come undone before they transitioned into this more intimate friendship. 

Hawke and Varric got dressed, Varric promised he’d send somebody later with her armor and padding. One of his trusted runners, the ones that brought her gifts and flowers in the sparse moments she spent away from him. 

The two waved tired hellos to Corff, before heading out into the sunshine that cast a hazy glow over the stones and wood of Lowtown. They wandered up into hightown, picking one of a dozen eateries, and sat down to a proper meal they both desperately needed.

Leandra welcomed them, Hawke hugged and kissed her cheeks, and Varric kissed her hand after a much-too-formal bow that he always did. Leandra would giggle and Hawke would roll her eyes at Varric, but everyone in the room felt glad the routine hadn’t changed even after Varric and Hawke became closer.

Hawke and Varric excused themselves to the library, and Leandra informed Hawke she was headed to Gamlen’s for their weekly visit. 

Hawke had a small stack of mail, but still a stack that needed to be read, responded to, and put away. Varric had some mild editing to review for his latest book, which he’d been sending the chapters of to his editor as soon as they were finished. They were almost ready to publish it, and Varric felt an itch at the back of his neck as he read the critiques. 

Time stopped for nobody, and neither did the work, but it was easier that day than any other day. Hawke and Varric took frequent breaks to talk and sneak down to the kitchen for snacks. Orana would make herself absent, conveniently, and Bodahn and Sandal also seemed to have vanished without a trace. Varric and Hawke didn’t mind though, the solitude was comforting, and after so much stress and contact with everyone for so long, it was a reward like no other. 

They were happy, even if they knew it was temporary. Plucking grapes off of stems, sneaking a bottle of wine under Hawke’s elbow, despite the fat nobody would care if they drank the wine she bought. They were happy. 

Things were simple. They were going easy on each other. Quiet voices, careful not to echo through the high ceilings and walls. Hawke kissed Varric once between glasses of wine in the library, spending the rest of the afternoon tucked into her work, and then her book. Varric’s pen scribbling in the corner, the soft footsteps and voices outside the library door. Soothing to her, like the sound of music from a distant room. 

They were happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I've already got like 30k of this fic written so I'll upload chapters weekly on Sundays!! I'm love Hawke/Varric so yeah... This is my custom Hawke following the events of my playthrough, but I'm writing it w/o her name so y'all can project.


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